


Sticky Trigger

by padthot (orphan_account)



Category: Split (2016)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn, like decades long, literal decades this starts with 12yo casey, no underage anything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-11-19 01:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 48,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18129239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/padthot
Summary: ‘I wasn’t scared!’ Hedwig scoffed. ‘I’m tough and strong. You were scared.’‘I was,’ Casey admitted.Hedwig stopped wriggling his legs and rolled to look at her. Somehow, it made her want to cry.‘I’ll protect you, Casey.’Twelve-year-old Casey had never had a friend before, but neither had Hedwig. When he learns she needs help, he'll make damn sure she's kept safe.A story spanning over a decade, following Casey as she grows and learns to love herself.





	1. Hedwig

 "My name is Hedwig. I have red socks."

      Hedwig didn’t look like a boy—his body covered most of the bench Casey had perched on, his long arms and legs sprawling over the edges—but he didn’t look like a man either. He was older than she was (or looked it anyway), but it was like he’d been caught somewhere in the in-between.

      Casey always felt like that. She was a girl of almost thirteen, yes, but she was treated like a woman. It’s what her uncle said whenever she cried: she was the woman of the house now, so she had to act like it. Women don’t cry, little girls do. He needed her to help with grown-up things, so she wasn’t meant to cry.

      Hedwig tilted his head, his eyes darting between her face and feet as he leaned forward on the bench.

      "My name is Casey," she replied as she pulled at the cuff of her jeans. "I don’t have socks."

      "Why not? Mr Dennis says you _have_ to wear socks. Your feet get dirty if you don’t."

      "That’s what shoes are for," Casey hurriedly tugged the cuff back down.

      Hedwig wouldn't be deterred, "Mr Dennis says feet make shoes smell bad."

      "I don’t have smelly feet!"

      Hedwig levelled her with a frown as full of understanding as it was condescension, "Mr Dennis told Jade even girls get smelly, and that’s _Jade_."

      "I don’t…" Casey whispered. "I’m clean. I don’t smell."

      She spoke more to herself than Hedwig, but the truth was that she hadn’t felt clean since her father died. Since _before_ he died.

      She couldn’t say that, though; if Hedwig knew, he would tell the police. Her uncle warned her what the police would do if they found out and she didn’t want to go to jail. He _had_ to believe she was clean.

      "Hmm… I don’t believe you."

      Hedwig frowned harder as her eyes glistened. She didn’t want to lie but he just couldn’t know. She wasn’t allowed to tell and he wouldn't understand it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t _want_ to be dirty.

      The frown disappeared a moment later as Hedwig rolled off the bench and thudded into the grass and dirt. He leapt up, grin back in place, and hopped on one foot as he fought to catch the right one.

      "I’ll give you one of mine!"

      "Really?"

      "Ah-huh!" The shoe flew over his shoulder as he ripped off a sock to throw directly at Casey’s face. "Here!"

      "Oof!"

      "Can we be friends?" Hedwig’s voice quietened, face downcast and twisted with worry as he eyed Casey's face.

      She closed her eyes and hugged the sock to her chest. It smelled funny, a mixture of new shoes and the bathroom after it was cleaned, but she loved it. It was hers, the other half of Hedwig’s set, which made _her_ the other half of Hedwig.

      ‘We can be friends,’ she nodded furiously as she looked back to him. " _Best_ friends."

      "Cool!" Hedwig yanked off her shoe and tried to fit it on his far larger foot.

      Casey laughed, properly and without fear, as she slipped his sock on. It reached her knee and didn’t fit right, but she never wanted to take it off.

      "Cool!" she repeated. "Do you wanna draw with me?"

* * *

The other children kept away from Hedwig, said he wasn’t _really_ nine, but it hadn’t bothered Casey. They kept away from her too, like they knew she was tainted and thought her misery might be contagious, so she hadn’t thought it was a bad thing. In fact, part of her had been thankful for their neglect; Hedwig was different—big, strong, fun, and full of ideas—and she couldn't think of anything worse than having to share him.

      Every time he saw her, his face lit up and chased away the deep frown lines he always had after driving. He'd sprint from the car park, a smile on his lips and new gift in his hands (socks usually, but there had also been the leaves, the painting, the candy necklace, and the toilet cleaner). The pair would retreat to the swings by the line of trees, content to sit and talk about the clouds or Hedwig’s friends.

      They never talked about Casey’s uncle. Hedwig had only seen him once, a few weeks after their initial introduction, when he'd collected Casey early. She usually walked the two blocks home and had hoped Hedwig would see him again.

      But John had an instinct when it came to hurting her. He'd become curious, wondered why she suddenly liked being banished to the park, and was determined to inject himself into this new part of her life.

      "He’s scary, Casey," Hedwig said when John pulled up again. "I’m scared."

      Casey had gripped his hand and puffed out her chest. She wouldn’t say how much her uncle frightened her too, not when Hedwig needed her.

      "I’ll protect you, Hedwig," she’d said. "Stand behind me."

      "Casey-bear, are you in trouble?" Uncle John leaned forward, smile thick and full of promise as he seized her free hand.

      "I—" Casey released Hedwig immediately and curled her fingers against the fabric of her shirt. "He’s—"

      "Kevin, it’s nice to meet you, sir."

      Casey’s eyes grew large, her lips parted. She wanted to look, to see where the voice that sounded so much like Hedwig’s had come from, but couldn’t tear her eyes from the grass stain on her uncle’s jeans.

      John straightened and extended a hand to the man behind her, ‘She’s not giving you much trouble, is she?’

      "Not at all. Casey is friends with my younger brother, Hedwig."

      "You didn’t tell me you had a friend, Casey-bear," John’s grip on her hand tightened. "Hedwig, that’s not a name you hear much around here."

      Kevin didn't reply.

      "Where is he? I’d love to meet the boy stealing my Casey away from me."

      Casey gulped and hoped Hedwig had run away. "He’s not—"

      "That shouldn’t be a problem, sir. Hedwig is only nine," Kevin said. "That’s three years younger than Casey, isn’t it?"

      John’s face twisted strangely, his eyes roaming over Kevin.

      "Where is he?"

      "At home, grounded," Kevin replied. "He thought hiding my glasses in a public park made for a fun game. If Casey hadn’t recognised me and told me where they were, I would have been in trouble."

      The more Kevin spoke, the less he sounded like Hedwig. His voice was similar, but there was a thick heaviness surrounding it. Each word sounded funny, like they’d been spoken by someone from out of town.

      "Is that it, Casey?" John tugged her arm to get her attention.

      Casey nodded.

      Satisfied, John barked out a laugh, "That sounds like Casey. She’s out to save the world."

      Kevin moved closer to her, "We, I, should be leaving. It was nice to meet you…?"

      "John," John shook Kevin’s hand again. "If Casey gives you any trouble in the future, just tell her you’ll let me know and it’ll straighten her out."

      "Thank you again for your help, Casey." the light touch of Kevin's hand as it brushed by her arm drew her gaze from the buttons on her uncle's shirt. She looked over her shoulder to the man who looked so much like Hedwig, yet so completely different. They shared the same lack of hair, the same body, but there was something different about the way he stood. The loose jacket Hedwig always wore open had been zipped and fit perfectly. Even his aura had changed, leaving no similarity at all. "I’ll tell Hedwig you said hello."

      "O-Okay."

      "Come on Casey-bear, let’s get out of his hair."

      As they walked away, Casey turned only once to look back at Kevin. She watched the tremor that ran through him, how it softened his posture until the jacket fell loose again. He waved at Casey with both hands, the frown he’d worn only minutes early swallowed by a large grin.

      Casey waved back and turned away.

      She had known Hedwig was different, but she hadn’t known how _cool_ he was.

* * *

"Who was that?"

      "Who was what?" Hedwig’s head nearly spun as he searched the park. "Where?"

      Casey laughed when he started turning in tight circles, "You look like a dog chasing his tail."

      "I _wish!"_  Hedwig huffed, then collapsed on the ground. "Dogs are _cool."_

      "Yeah," Casey replied as she flopped down beside him.

      It had been two weeks since they’d seen each other. The weather was cooling, thin yellow and orange piles surrounded the trees, and the other kids were barely at the park anymore. Casey still went every day, hopeful she would see Hedwig if she waited on the swings for long enough.

      She almost cried when she saw him bounding over to her.

      "So who was it?" she asked again. "The guy you turned into."

      "I didn’t turn into anyone… I don’t think."

      "Not to _day;_   _last time,"_  Casey huffed. "When you were scared."

      "I wasn’t _scared! "_  Hedwig scoffed. "I’m tough and strong. _You_ were scared."

      "I was," Casey admitted.

      Hedwig stopped wriggling his legs and rolled to look at her. Somehow, it made her want to cry.

      "I’ll protect you, Casey."

      Casey sniffed.

      "Really! I’ll… I’ll ask Mr Dennis to teach me how to fight! He doesn’t get scared and he’s really strong!"

      "Yeah?"

      "Yeah! And Miss Patricia, she’ll teach us how to tell ‘em off! She’s really good at it!"

      Casey couldn’t imagine Hedwig telling _anyone_ off. The thought of him puffing out his chest and shaking his fist alone made her laugh.

      "Did I help?"

      She nodded, "I feel better."

      "No _oo,_ I meant when I got Mr Dennis last time," Hedwig rolled his eyes, let them land on Casey, then shoved at her shoulder. "Don’t be sad, Case."

      "Mr Dennis? But.. he looked like you?"

      " _Duh!_ We have to share the Light, so _yeah_ he looks like me!"

      "You said he was really big!"

      "He _is!"_

      "Oh…" Casey’s face scrunched. "Does… Miss Patricia share too?"

      "Yah-huh," Hedwig hummed. "Is that bad?"

      His lip shook, jaw tensing while he tilt his chin higher in preparation for the blow to come.

      "That’s _so cool,_ you’re never alone!"

      Hedwig flew at her, squeezing her in a tight hug. "I told them you were cool!"

      "Really?" Casey mumbled, her mouth pressed against a flailing shoulder. It didn't matter who 'they' even were.

      "Yeah!"

      After a moment of complete stillness, Casey pushed back against Hedwig and hugged him back. For the first time she could remember, she felt safe.


	2. Growing

"When’s your birthday?"

     Casey lowered her stick—she hadn’t been really been interested in thwacking branches anyway—and looked at Hedwig closely. Over the previous few months, she had learned how dangerous it was when he asked questions in that quiet, bored voice.

     The first time, he had asked her whether she liked birds. Casey said she did—who _didn’t_ —and carried on building her twig castle. Moments later, Hedwig had jumped from a tree and flapping his arms. Only his pride had been injured when he hit the ground, but his lips held a wry smile when she laughed about it.

     The next time, he asked if she liked cars. She said she did and couldn’t wait to drive one (couldn't wait to get away, to leave her life behind). The next thing she knew, Hedwig was dragging her to the parking lot intent on teaching her how to drive right then and there. They’d almost made it before he went completely still, frowned in concentration, threw his arms up with a loud _‘FINE!’_ and told her they’d have to wait until the grown-ups left.

    So this time, Casey was wary.

      "Why?" she asked. She eyed his pockets for any hint of a lighter or candles.

     Hedwig shrugged.

      "When’s yours?"

     Hedwig shrugged again, "They’re different for all of us."

      "Do you get bored turning nine every year?"

      "Sometimes…" he kicked at the ground and stuffed both hands in his pockets. "I’m _almost_ ten and that’s _two_ numbers."

      "Yeah…"

      "Will you still be my friend when you’re really old?"

     Casey looked back to her stick. She wanted to say yes, to yell it, but something stopped her. Every time she loved someone they were taken away from her. If she told Hedwig they’d always be friends, wouldn’t that end up hurting him?

     Hedwig sniffed and kicked up a tuft of grass.

      "If you promise not to get hurt, I will," Casey mumbled.

      "Why would I get hurt? You’re not gonna hurt me."

       Casey shrugged and thwacked at another branch.

      _"You’ll_ always be _my_ friend, even though you have _smelly feet."_

       "Do not!"

       Hedwig’s head jerked slightly to the left as his brow furrowed in concentration. Casey had seen it happen before, but the more time they spent with each other, the more often he did it.

       "Miss Patricia says she’ll keep both of us safe," Hedwig finally said. "Mr Dennis, too. He said he doesn’t like—"

       His head jerked again and Casey’s stomach dropped somewhere around her ankles. She still hadn’t met Miss Patricia or Mr Dennis but Hedwig always talked about them. She knew it was a long shot that they would like her to start with, but hearing it…

       "Sorry Casey," Hedwig’s voice shocked her with its sincerity, "Miss Patricia says I’m not allowed to talk about him."

       Casey slid to the ground and wrapped her arms around her knees. "It’s okay, he doesn’t have to like me. _You’re_ my best friend, right?"

       Hedwig nodded vigorously, "I think he’s mean."

       "Why?"

       She regretted asking as soon as the word left her mouth. There were some things that should stay quiet, private, and if Hedwig wanted to tell her if Mr Dennis hurt him then he would. It wasn’t fair for her to pry.

       But then, a wave of protectiveness washed over her. Hedwig had never been anything but kind, and the idea of  _anyone_ bullying or hurting him turned her blood to ice. Even if Mr Dennis was strong, even if he had met her uncle, she’d still do everything she could to stop him from hurting Hedwig.

       "Mr Dennis said so," Hedwig whispered. He shook his head, clearing it of whatever words he may have heard.

       "Mr Dennis said he was mean?" Casey asked, totally lost.

       "Yeah, and I think so too," Hedwig continued. "Your uncle is _really_ scary."

       "Oh."

       A strange feeling tickled her skin but she couldn’t understand what it meant.

       "But—but _you_ aren’t! You’re _really_ cool!"

       "Does… Mr Dennis think I’m mean too?"

       Hedwig shook his head, "That’s dumb. You’re my friend!"

       Casey smiled, warm and large, until it was reflected back at her on Hedwig’s face.

       "My birthday was last week. On Monday."

       "Why didn’t you SAY something!" Hedwig flew to his feet, hands desperately rifling through his pockets. "I gotta get you a present!"

       "No, it’s—"

       "It’s the _law!_ We’ve gotta—"

       He jerked again, shoulders slumped as his neck stiffened and rose higher. Casey shuffled backwards, unsure of what to do or what was happening. Within a second, Hedwig had _changed_.

       "I’m so sorry to intrude, but Hedwig is quite right," Hedwig’s lisp had disappeared, replaced by the fanciest accent Casey had ever heard. "Come along, dear, we’ll find you something fitting."

       "Huh? Who—?"

       "You may call me Miss Patricia, little dove," Hedwig—no, _Miss Patricia_ —extended her hand. Casey grasped it with shaking fingers and was pulled effortlessly to her feet. "Come along now, child. We have no time to spare."

* * *

"Thirteen is _such_ an important age. Jewish people say it’s the age boys become men, but I think we can _both_ agree some men stay children forever. How about this dress? Isn’t it lovely?"

     A soft pink and white dress was thrust in Casey’s direction and she struggled to hide her confusion. "It… I think it would look nice on you."

     Miss Patricia flapped a hand as if to bat away a compliment, laughing as she did. "You _are_ sweet, but it’s _much_ too young for me."

      "What’s it for?"

      "For you, dear," shaking her head, she pulled the dress back and draped it over an arm. "I always wanted a little girl. Kevin was _such_ a good child, but I couldn’t dress him for as long as I liked and couldn’t put him in _girls_ clothes."

     Casey shook her head too; she was uncomfortable with the realisation she was to be dressed by Miss Patricia and imagined it would only be worse for the mysterious Kevin.

      "Do you think… um…"

      "Don’t say _um_ , you weren’t raised in a barn," Miss Patricia replied, then turned to face her with a stern expression. "Or were you?"

       Casey shook her head again and Miss Patricia breathed out a sigh.

      "Thank goodness for that. Now, what were you saying?"

      "U— _I…"_  Casey took a breath, "wondered… will I meet Kevin?"

      "I would say not, at least not now—how is this? The green would look lovely with those eyes of yours."

       Casey frowned but tried to sound grateful, "It’s pretty."

      "Casey, dear, if you don’t like something about it, you should _say_ so. You mustn’t let others push you into things—what about this blue one? It has such a pretty neckline. Here—" she thrust the blue and pink dresses into Casey’s arms, "—try these on while I find you some shoes to match."

      A large part of Casey wanted to point out how hypocritical the entire moment had been, but Miss Patricia had already strut towards the shoes. There was also the matter of how warm Casey felt despite the terrible clothing.

     Her mother had died before she could remember and her father had always hated clothes shopping. It wasn’t because he found it boring, but more his knack for finding exactly the opposite of what Casey wanted to wear. The number of times he produced itchy shorts, puffy sleeves, and precarious looking shoes was too much to count and always ended with him throwing his hands up and demanding Casey simply show him what she liked.

     At the time, she thought he really had no idea at all and laughed about it. Now she was older, she realised it had more to do with how much _she_ hated shopping. She always groaned and stomped her feet when they looked for clothing, but his suggestions were a distraction from how tedious it all was.

     Miss Patricia probably wasn’t doing the same thing. She really did seem to like the clothes she picked out and there was an excited glint in her eyes when she saw the stockings earlier. It wouldn’t hurt to humour her, especially when both dresses did have long sleeves.

     When she stepped out of the change room in the massacre of pink and white, Casey kept her eyes low. A faint tinge of heat warmed her cheeks, the knowledge that the dress simply didn’t suit her surely obvious to everyone in the store. But as long as she kept a low profile and stayed close to the change rooms, the manager probably wouldn’t see and demand she change. No one would laugh—except Miss Patricia, maybe—and she could simply prove she needed something a little less… pretty.

      "Oh, Babygirl, you look _gor_ geous."

       The fancy accent disappeared, replaced with one more familiar. Casey looked up, confused and embarrassed, only to see Hedwig’s—Patricia’s— _someone’s_ body smiling back at her with ease.

      "Aw, don’t look at me like that. I meant it! You actually make a dress that drab come to life."

      "I—what?"

      "We haven’t met yet. _I_ am Barry," he slunk forward with an air of theatricality, softly took her hand and lowered himself into a ridiculous and deep bow, " _enchanté,_ let’s get you into some clothes from _this_ century _."_

     The tug on her hand was as gentle as Barry’s fingers. She stumbled after him, head spinning with the transformation as she tried to place him. For the most part, Hedwig had only talked about Mr Dennis and Miss Patricia. There were times he’d mentioned others, but it was so rarely that Casey hadn’t the chance to memorise their names.

      "U-Um—"

       Barry stopped and turned, "Mhm?"

      "What… happened to Miss Patricia?"

      "Oh, you don’t have to call her _Miss,"_  Barry laughed. "I caught wind of this _awful_ pair of shoes she wanted you to wear. Cork, open toe, _straps—_ I knew then I had to do everything in my power to save you the indignity."

      "Oh."

      "And I can’t resist shopping. Dennis is such a tight-a—cheap, he’s _cheap."_

       Casey shifted her weight from hip to hip. She didn’t want to cause any trouble and was already concerned Mr Dennis wouldn’t like her. It wouldn’t have meant much, only she knew how Hedwig idolised him.

      "I don’t want to—"

      "Then _don’t_ ," Barry interrupted. "You’ve been a good friend to Hedwig. He _wants_ to get you something, but he doesn’t want Patricia dressing like you a 19th-century peasant searching for her missing cattle."

       Casey smiled at the comparison, "Why are they missing?"

      "They fled as soon as they saw the stitching on that dress."

       Casey laughed properly this time, the way she always did when Hedwig cheered her up.

       "Speaking of, you should really change out of it. As pretty as you make it, we just _can’t_ have people thinking it’s acceptable casual-wear."

* * *

Half an hour later, Casey and Barry were leaving store number three. She had talked him out of picking fabric—it would be too much for him to make her something, no matter how he insisted—and the more expensive clothes. In the end, she and a supportive Hedwig had urged Barry to settle on a pair of leggings and a baggy t-shirt. They weren’t as flashy as Barry had wanted but they were soft and comfortable.

     More importantly, they blended in with the clothes Casey already had. Her uncle wouldn’t notice they were new and wouldn’t ask questions she couldn’t answer.

      "Thirteen, what an age," Barry sighed. " _I_ remember when _I_ was thirteen. Double denim had taken the world by storm and girls _loved_ plastic earrings."

      "What’s wrong with plastic earrings?" Casey asked.

      "Nothing, if you know how to accessorise properly," Barry smiled. "But if you’re like Jade— _hey!_ —it isn’t accessorising if you’re putting _everything_ on."

      "Can I… ask you something?"

      "Mhmm," Barry hummed, his curious expression a mask for whatever he was truly thinking.

      "Does it… hurt?" Casey gripped her glass of water and kept her voice low. "When you do that."

      "No, it doesn’t hurt. It’s like… a thought mostly, when we’re behaving," Barry replied. His fingers drummed on the table without rhythm, out of time from any song Casey had ever heard. "If you like, I can answer some of your questions."

      "I don’t know what to ask."

      The condensation on her glass gave her something to focus on while she thought. There were many things she wanted to know but finding the words was difficult.

      "You don’t have to ask now."

      "Is… Why are you being so…"

       Barry raised an eyebrow.

      "Nice?" Casey finished. "You don’t know me."

      "Are you worried we may have ulterior motives?"

       When Casey didn’t answer, Barry sighed quietly to himself.

      "Hedwig is young but he has the best judge of character. If he thinks you’re 'cool,' you probably are. We were concerned when you first met, I won’t lie about that. Hedwig is bullied and has never had a real friend before."

      "Never?"

      "Never," Barry repeated. "We were worried about you as well. It isn’t every day you meet a young girl so willing to believe a twenty-year-old man is really nine-years-old."

     Casey shrugged. She didn’t know what to say to that.

      "If there’s… anything you need, to talk about or… if you _need_ anything…"

      "I’m fine," Casey said quickly.

     He didn’t understand what he was offering, what it would mean. What danger it would put everyone in and how unbelievable it was. She didn’t want to stop seeing Hedwig, so she wouldn't give any of them a reason to interfere.

      "We’re here," Barry continued. "We’re _all_ here."

       With a curt nod, Casey returned to her thoughts.

       If he knew how tainted she was, he would never have said anything so kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's super late but here i am, in split hell, updating twice in one day like a fool. i'm still a bit rusty but bear with me, the characterisations will improve!


	3. Strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for sexual assault and, uh, wee bit of violence.

Truthfully, Casey thought high school might be different. She knew better than to believe the lies in movies, the stories of girls removing their glasses and ponytails only to find the acceptance of others, but a part of her had hoped they were right.

     She hadn’t dressed differently for her first day. Her clothes were piled atop one another, her body nothing more than a window others would see right through if she let so much as an inch of skin be visible. The hair had grown, just as John liked, and fell like a shroud over her face and shoulders.

     If she weren’t allowed to stay hidden beneath the covers all day, she would bring the covers with her.

     The soft pang of guilt for her failure to appreciate the situation rumbled beneath her skin, scratching Hedwig’s name with dangerous precision. She was ungrateful, she knew that. He would have given anything to attend school, would find joy in invented secrets and the understanding that, on some level, he was the same as the other students. That he was allowed—expected—to be there.

     It wasn’t fair for Casey to resent her circumstances when Hedwig’s were so much worse. He had bitten his lip when she said he couldn’t come with her, kicked at the cement in the parking lot, and said he’d be extra good if she let him.

     If Barry hadn’t come out when he had to calm things, Casey was sure she would have tried to break Hedwig into the school. Maybe not during class, or on a weekday, but she would have found a way to let him explore the chipping walls and well-worn floors.

     It would be different if he were there, she realised.

     She would feel okay.

* * *

"Watch it!" A book fell from the boy’s hand when Casey bumped into him. He managed to catch it at the last moment and laughed when he saw her, ‘Space Case staying on brand."

     Casey’s shoulders tightened. She rolled her eyes and walked off anyway.

     She wished she were anywhere else.

* * *

Casey waited until the classroom emptied before gathering her things. She walked to the lockers as though they were the electric chair, prolonging the inevitable for as long as possible. Once there, she collected her things and made her way through the narrow halls to the exit. Each step she took was a chance she hadn't taken, another wasted opportunity to damage herself in a fall and be sent to the hospital.

     If she did it right, she might lose consciousness.

     If she lost consciousness, they might see the burns on her body.

     It wouldn’t be her fault; she wouldn’t be able to stop them if she weren’t awake. They would draw their own conclusions, uncover her story with each bruise, and the truth would seep from each pore of her skin.

     She paused on the middle step, one foot outstretched. It would be so easy to trip, to make it look like an accident. Her shoes were new—second-hand, but new for her—so they would think she wasn’t used to them. No one would know, she wouldn’t have to tell anyone. It would all just _happen._

     But then what?

     Casey had long since stopped believing she would be in trouble for her uncle's crimes but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be punished. A new home filled with strangers could pose a greater threat. It could tear away any faith she clung to in the world, could prove her right to believe all others would be the same.

     And what would happen with Hedwig and Barry? With Patricia and Jade?

     Would she ever see them again? Would they be disgusted with her?

     She couldn’t lie to them, not forever, but for now, she knew she wouldn’t survive the pain their stares would cause her.

* * *

 

The floor was always the safest. He never attacked her on the floor, not if the bed were there. The only memories the floor held were the bruises on her wrists and biceps from where he dragged her up, the faintest scratch marks against the old wood flooring.

     When she was younger, Casey had longed for carpeting. It would be warmed, more comfortable, but as she grew older she was thankful for the faded lengths of wood. They were kin to her in some sense, something she could aspire to be. No matter what dragged along them—be it her own body when he wrest her onto the bed, or the bedside table she once used to try and block the doorway—they remained firm.

     The polish had worn years earlier, leaving behind pale wear and scratches. Yet, Casey had never thought the floorboards to be ugly. They remained, firm and strong, forever there to hold her weight no matter what happened to them.

     The floorboards didn’t break, even when her fingers pressed against their cracks in some attempt to see what wonders may lay beneath. They were pliant in their firmness, willing to move for those who asked kindly; for those who were gentle and calm.

     There was nothing Casey owned that was worth hiding. Her father’s possessions had been gifted to his friends or hidden somewhere in storage with her mother’s. Photographs of her parents littered the apartment already, their frozen smiles unrelated to what John did to her yet somehow endorsing it. So many memories had been destroyed because they’d caught her eye at the wrong time, because they smiled still even when she cried for them.

     Would they have understood she didn’t want this? Her father would have, but even if he’d known, he would have died anyway. Might have died earlier from the shock of it, and then what?

     No, the photographs and memories were tainted by John. He'd muddied them with his inability to think outside of himself, to wonder if Casey wasn’t as terrible and deserving of the pain as he thought.

     Still, her fingers pushed against the cracks aside the shortest board. The wood relaxed, its determination to protect what she held most dear easing. She dared not reach into the darkness, not when John was in the next room, but the contents still slowed her racing heart and dulled the itch for punishment.

     Four dried leaves, five drawings, six socks, and a baggy t-shirt that no longer fit.

     There, hidden in the darkness and only visible when she sprawled herself across the floor, was her salvation. Treasures, irreplaceable and worth more than any jewel ever could be. Love stitched into each large sock, printed against every leaf like a fingerprint.

     For a moment, she could let every horror she carried with her fade into the night.

* * *

"You still friends with that kid?" John asked one morning.

     Casey froze, toast dangling midway between her plate and mouth. She knew who he was talking about but couldn’t understand why. She had been so careful to never bring Hedwig up, to keep him separate and away ever since that time at the park. John barely remembered her birthday and she hadn’t thought he would remember the boy at the park from years ago.

      "What boy?"

     John scoffed, "So you are?"

     Casey didn’t say anything.

      "Are you fucking him?"

      Her toast dropped to the plate. Casey stared at him, desperate to find his angle. He wasn’t angry, wasn’t anything other than smug. It was a trick, a reason to make her gasp as he knocked the air from her lungs.

      From her peripheries, she could see the butter knife beside her. The opportunity.

      It would be so easy. He didn’t think she had it in her, but something inside her begged to differ. Casey was faster, more agile, and hadn’t the burden of age and drinking atop her shoulders. She could dart over the table with it and plunge it behind his eye before he realised what’s happening. Pull it from it's socket and shove it between his teeth, knee his jaw closed, forcing him to see his own teeth bear down on his eye. She could pull his ears from his skull, shove him to the floor, and snip centimetre by centimetre off the nightmare dangling between his legs.

     She could make him suffer. She could steal his power.

     She picked up the toast instead.

      "No."

      John watched her with a bemused smirk he hid by his cup of coffee and liquor.

      "That’s a good girl, Casey-bear," he said. "Don’t forget, we’re all we’ve got now."

     Casey nodded and wished she were stronger.


	4. Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no spellcheck we die like men

“Mr Dennis said I can pick the flowers this year!”

     Hedwig bounded over to Casey, voice raised and arms waving, a broad smile making him look like any other child. He gave her no time to respond or ask questions before he snatched her wrist and dragged her towards the car park.

     “Come _on_ , Casey! I’m gonna pick blue ones and big ones, et thetra.”

     “Flowers?”

     It was all she got out before Hedwig started telling her how he was going to make sure no one else got the Light so he could drive. She couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm though she knew it wouldn’t help matters.

     But wasn’t _only_ his enthusiasm she laughed at; over the last few weeks, Hedwig had picked up a new word. Orwell was to blame, or so Hedwig said, as he’d used it during a particularly passionate tutoring session. Hedwig hadn’t remembered a single thing he’d been taught about the first Thanksgiving (to no one’s surprise), but had tucked the word into his pocket as though it were a precious stone.

     Given who it belonged to, it was only natural for it to be brought out and shown off at every opportunity; after all, it _was_ Latin _._

     “Yeah!” Hedwig yelled, freeing Casey from her thoughts. “It’s _important,_ and _no one else_ is allowed to do it!”

     “Are you sure I’m allowed to help?”

     “ _Duh,_ ” Hedwig groaned before Casey had even finished her sentence. “Mr Dennis said you had to, but _I_ get to supervise.”

     Confused, she shook her head; she’d think about that later.

     “Did Mr Dennis say we needed the car to get flowers?”

     “... _no…_ ” Hedwig said. “Do you think he’s gonna know?”

     Casey nodded, barely keeping her face straight as Hedwig slumped forward and started to drag his feet.

     “ _Fine,_ I _guess._ ”

* * *

The search for flowers took longer than it should have. Neither Casey nor Hedwig had actually taken note of flowers before (not the ones in shops, anyway), and there were so many other things to look at. Whether it was what Hedwig lovingly described as “ _really dumb dresses for bears,_ ” the flashing toys perched in windows, or the lack of enthusiasm either had for ending their search, neither could be sure.

     It was peaceful. They spent so much time hidden in the park, away from prying eyes and questioning stares, it felt freeing to walk around the streets as other children and teenagers did. Casey knew it wasn’t fair on either of them to wish things were different, that Hedwig were really his age and she wasn’t so brittle and easily frightened, but her heart refused to listen to reason. When she closed her eyes as Hedwig explained the mechanics of the Transformer-cross-Barbie he’d thought of, she could almost believe the normalcy would last forever.

     Of course, she hadn’t expected it to end with Hedwig attempting to shimmy his way up a streetlight in an attempt to better scout the area.

     In that moment, it felt as though every person in the city turned to watch them. The whispers closed in like a cool wind, wrapping their way around Casey like a deadly snake. She would be suffocated by them, crushed into pieces, and Hedwig would be all alone.

     Hedwig’s laughter fell over her, oiling her skin until the whispers and eyes and stares and voices were bid a hasty retreat. He swung around the pole, one arm out as the childish sound turned into something deeper. The music she felt whenever he was joyful became real music, a real song, and the scornful whispers became appreciative coos.

     “ _New York, New York! It’s a wonderful town!The Bronx is up and the Battery’s down. The people ride in a hole in the ground,_ ” he leapt off the pole, arms wide as he sang to Casey,“ _New York, New York! It’s a hell of a town!_ ”

     “Barry?”

     Three older women who had been walking past chattered about what an adorable couple she and Barry were as they walked by, but Casey’s eyes remained fixed on his flushed face. He looked embarrassed, unaccustomed to making a spectacle of himself in front of so many people, but couldn’t quite hide his smile.

     “You’re getting good at picking us, babygirl,” he said, taking her arm in his. “What’s say we skidaddle before I’m asked for an encore.”

     “Is… what was…”

     “It’s better if no one knows,” He watched her from the corner of his eye as he walked them around a corner. “About Hedwig.”

     The curl of her top lip and squint of her eyes must have shown how disgusted she felt at the idea of Hedwig being forced to hide. Barry’s muscles flexed as though he were afraid she might pull away.

     “When people know, they try to lock us up. I can pull off almost any look, doll, but white jackets aren’t one of them.”

     “Oh.”

     Would someone really do that? There was no reason to lock them away just because Hedwig was so young; it wasn’t as though they were dangerous. Sure, there were a lot of people all in the same body, but that didn’t mean—

     Casey frowned. She had known them for years now, had met Hedwig when she was only twelve. It was possible other people wouldn’t see them how she did. If someone like her uncle were to find out about them, there was a real chance something worse could happen.

     “I’m sorry, I should have watched him better.”

     “And miss out on my performance?” Barry laughed. “That was a once-in-a-lifetime deal, honey, don’t regre—ugh—”

     “Barry stole the Light but I’m back now! Et thetera!” Hedwig looked at his arm, at how Casey’s hand was sat on his bicep, and pulled back with an exaggerated grimace. “ _EW!_ ”

* * *

 

     “Casey! Look!” Hedwig shoved his face into a small bouquet of sunflowers and sniffed loudly. “They don’t smell?”

     Thoughts of police dragging him away crying flooded her. Barry had saved them once, but there was no way anyone could explain a grown man rubbing his nose against various flowers away.

     Casey looked to the clerk, excuses and apologies scrambling over one another in a race to be blurted out first, only to find the woman smiling.

     “Do you like flowers that smell pretty?” she asked. When Hedwig nodded into some Sweetpeas, she turned to look at Casey. “Don’t worry, dear, it’s nice to see a man who loves flowers once in a while. These days, they only ever buy the roses.”

     “Oh, yeah.” There wasn’t much else to be said about it.

     Hedwig’s sniff turned into a groan of appreciation, and the woman chuckled again.

     “Did you find some you like?”

     “Ah-huh,” Hedwig replied.

     The florist beamed, apparently happy with the honest answer, before asking Casey what the occasion was.

     “They’re for the bitch!” Hedwig said, cutting off Casey’s invented explanation. “She’s dead so we gotta make sure she stays dead every year. Et cetera.”

     “ _Hedwig!_ ”

     “Ah, you need a black rose,” the shopkeeper nodded. “I’m afraid we’re all out of those, but let me see what else I can find…”

     The flowers shifted, moving with precision and care usually unseen. It gave the impression the woman knew exactly what she was looking for, but had decided to play it up for Hedwig’s benefit.

     “Yes, yes this will do. Do you know what this flower is?”

     Hedwig carefully took the flower extended to him but made no reply.

     “Is it a tulip?” Casey asked.

     “It is, and purple Tulips have a _very_ special meaning. They represent being reborn, growing tough,” she pulled her arm into a strongman flex, much to Casey and Hedwig’s delight, “and moving forward. If you put one of these with the _witch,_ you’ll be saying you’re moving past her.”

     “ _Cool._ Casey, I wanna be a knight!”

     “How much are they?”

     “Hmm, well, let’s say for five dollars, I’ll make you something special with five flowers. It beats the price of just the one.”

     With it settled, the woman set to work carefully arranging leaves, sweetpeas, and a daffodils into a small bouquet. When she finished, she handed it to an ecstatic Hedwig who barely stopped shoving them into Casey’s face as she tried to pay.

     “Before you go, this one is on the house,” the woman placed a long flower into Casey’s hand along with her change. “It’s a blue iris.”

     Casey looked at it, touched that anyone would willing give her a flower.

     “What does it mean?”

     The woman’s only answer was a smile.

* * *

 

“Hedwig, you can’t drive, remember?”

     Hedwig’s movements lost their fluidity, becoming rigid and uncomfortable. His steps were those of a man whose shoes were filled with glass to smash, his torso flexing against a shirt it viewed as an enemy. Yet, the way he opened the passenger door for her and kept his eyes on the ground was a stark contrast.

     Casey knew Hedwig had left, but she had not idea who was in control.

     “Hedwig can’t drive.”

     Had she heard that voice before?

     “I won’t hurt you,” he continued once it became clear Casey had no plans to move. “I’m trying to be good. I _am_ being good.”

     Something about the way he said it frightened her, but she put it to the back of her mind. Hedwig and Barry were there, and even if they couldn’t help her she was almost positive Patricia would. Memories of hunts she’d been on with her father flashed through her mind, only this time, she saw herself with a gun through the eyes of a doe.

     “Thank you.”

     As the door clicked shut behind her, she hoped John hadn’t left her marked as prey.

* * *

 

Gravestones littered the landscape. Large and small, wood and stone, angels and crucifixes. Clouds swept across the sun, trying in vain to hide the light like fingers stretched across a flashlight. The air was wet, heavy with feelings that belonged to no one and everyone, emphasising the unnerving green of the lawn.

     Dennis hadn’t said a word outside of his introduction, and even that had only come after ten minutes of silence. It looked as though he were in his own world—one filled with terrors, if his frown was any indication—and Casey found it impossible to steal his focus back to reality with stupid questions.

     But they’d been parked for some time, unmoving and still, simply staring at anything that wasn’t each other. Each minute that ticked by brought her closer to when she would have to leave (she didn’t want to, even if it meant spending the night parked in a graveyard in total silence with a stranger), and she ran out of excuses for staying quiet.

     “I’m Casey.”

     His head snapped towards her with such force she feared he might damage himself.

     “I, I didn’t say,” she whispered, “before.”

     “Casey,” the word sounded different when he said it, “I’m Dennis.”

     Had he forgotten his earlier introduction, or was he making fun of her for the lateness of her own? Because he clearly knew who she was already?

     “Dennis,” she repeated.

     He took a deep breath, knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel, and spoke directly to his knees: “We should get this over with.”

     Though Casey had long since found a fascination with the handle of the glovebox and yearned to stare at it a little longer, her instincts told her he wouldn’t leave the car until she did. Every move she made felt lethargic and clumsy, her fingers too large and awkward to open the door and her ankle too atrophied to hold her weight when she stepped outside. Absently, she noticed he was watching her, the burden of his gaze increasing the gravity around her.

     He muttered something under his breath as she shut the door, but soon climbed out. Breathing heavily, he reached inside to retrieve the flowers before letting the door close as softly as he could.

     “Follow me.”

     The walk was short, barely thirty feet in length. Dennis stopped beside one row, clenched his fists, and moved carefully down towards what looked to be an empty plot. There was no headstone or cross, nothing but a faded bronze plaque pushed into the damp earth. It was absent of poems, dates of birth and death, with only a name etched into the metal:

**PENELOPE CRUMB**

     Casey looked at Dennis, but his eyes were fixed on the plaque of whoever this woman was. She followed his gaze to a clump of grass leaned over the corner and leaned forward to clean it. Her fingers brushed the blades, moving them back towards the lawn, but something caught her arm before she could clean it properly.

     Breathing heavy, Dennis stared at his fingers on her bicep. “Leave it.”

     Casey nodded, and Dennis stepped back.

     “The flowers are for the neighbours,” he ran a hand over his forehead. “She can stay filthy.”

     “Who is she?” The words slipped out before they’d even become a thought and left behind a trail of acid regret along her tongue. She knew she should apologise, say anything to remove the question from existence, but something about the way Dennis tensed told her it was too late.

     “Kevin’s mother,” he replied. “Hedwig might’ve told you, he’s the original.”

     Kevin, who she would never meet. The man who birthed her friends, gave life to her Hedwig, who lived somewhere in the deep recess of unknown grey matter inside their head.

     “He’s weak,” Dennis continued. “He can’t handle the Light. It’s not safe for him.”

     “Is he…” she trailed off, confident there were no words to fill the rest of her sentence.

     Dennis turned to face her, the coolness of his eyes burning against her skin. “How old are you?”

     “Fifteen,” she replied, suddenly overwhelmed with the sense she was embarrassing herself.

     “Almost sixteen. Next month.”

     “…Yes.”

     He nodded once, sharp and loud. “Kevin’s mother was a bad woman. She did bad things to Kevin. Hurt him.”

     It explained a lot. Too much.

     “Thank you. For being friends with the boy. Letting him be your friend.”

     “I like Hedwig,” she replied. “He’s my best friend.”

     Dennis made a small noise of what may have been approval. They turned back to the grave, still covered in dirt and memories, and stood in the silence until it deafened them.

* * *

 

“You’re sure? I can take you to the door.”

     “No it’s, the corner’s fine.”

     The engine vibrated through the seat, working to pull apart each piece of her she so carefully held together. She didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to leave the car or the stern man who cleaned the graves of everyone but his—Kevin’s—own mother. There was a safety in his presence, a sense of peace and a vision of calm waters. If she opened the door and walked home she would surely shatter.

     “Casey?”

     She swallowed twice before looking at him.

     “I’ll watch you walk in.”

     “Thanks.”

     She’d stalled too long, hadn’t even thought they may have some place else to be. It was the first real time with Dennis, with the person Hedwig idolised the most, and she was ruining it.

     “If you need anything,” he continued, effectively freezing her hand into place on the door handle, “call me. I’ll come get you.”

     The intensity of the offer seized her lungs. She could never impose herself on anyone. If anyone could bear the worst life had to offer, it was Casey. Bringing someone else into it was out of the question.

     Without a word, she climbed out of the car and into the street. There was no reason to cry. Nothing bad had happened. It was okay.

     But as she straightened her shirt, she couldn’t help but notice the blinds of her apartment slipping shut.


	5. Regression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 1:32am but here i am

It had been three weeks, four days and a handful of hours since Casey last saw them.

     She thought of calling to let them know she couldn’t see Hedwig anymore. He wouldn’t be happy, but the others would help him understand. It wouldn’t be forever, just another two years until she was free. They could call each other, send photos of pictures and drawings, maybe take funny pictures of themselves pulling faces.

     It wasn’t until she unlocked her phone that she realised they’d never exchanged numbers.

* * *

 

Four weeks, one day, and a handful of hours.

     History isn’t the same when it’s repeated from a textbook. Events have become words, and words slide over her. She’d hoped to learn something about herself when learning about the past, to find an escape well-used and guaranteed.

     It’s only words. Platitudes. Cliches.

     Repetition.

     No matter who the words describe, they were written by people far from the frontlines. Without a firsthand account, the passion has disappeared. There’s no fire, no satisfaction; nothing to invest herself in or lose herself inside of.

     The clock mocks her, noisy and loud despite the chatter inside the room. She gathers her things and ignores the call of her name as she leaves the classroom. Detention, that afternoon—she hears the words before they’re spoken.

     “Good.”

     No one hears her. It makes it feel so much worse.

* * *

 

Four weeks, five days, a handful of hours.

     She’s in detention but it’s not as peaceful as it usually is. Her mind is a wasteland of concern, a theatre of worry.

     Was Hedwig upset? Did he think she hated him? Would he cry?

     No one cared for her except for Hedwig. The others too, the ones who lived inside Kevin, but Hedwig was special.

     Hedwig never asked why she winced when he touched her arms. He never talked about the bruises around her throat. Never let his eyes linger on the darkness or told her things would get better.

     Hedwig loved her because she was his Casey. He trusted her with his secrets—no matter how silly they could be—and invented new songs to rap for her. When she tripped over, he would laugh like there was nothing else that could ever matter so much. If she felt broken, he’d repeat the stories Patricia told him or tell her how he would protect her, that she should never be afraid when he was around.

     But he wasn’t around.

     Not anymore.

     She rubbed her ankles together and took comfort in the thick, mismatched socks on her feet.

     She would find a way to see him again. Somehow.

* * *

 

_“I’m all you need, Casey-bear. You don’t need anyone else. It’s you and me, just you and me. Say it, come on. Just you and me.”_

* * *

 

Five weeks and a handful of hours.

     Art class is in full swing but Casey is stalking the grounds. There’s too much chatter, too many people trying to talk to her now. Some have heard rumours and want to dig up dirt, others see her as a project.

     She wants to be left alone. It used to be enough, to yell and snap at teachers, but the world has grown desensitised. No one sees her, so they can’t hear her no matter what she says. They only look, exhausted without fatigue, and turn away.

     No one said anything when she walked out of class. She doesn’t know if she’s happy for it or not.

     It’s been overcast ever since their visit to the cemetery. The memory has rattled through her mind on repeat, soaking in each detail and searching for any lost meanings. Dennis was different to the others, more familiar in ways Casey wishes he wasn’t.

     Had he realised that as well? Was it why he wanted her there, to show her there’s an end? Was there any reason at all for her going with him, for being told, or had she simply been available?

     Barbs from the thought tore against her skin, hurting her yet withholding any release she was usually given. It twisted against her, pushing her stomach higher and higher until bile burnt her throat.

     Three days since she last remembered to eat. If she were lucky, John mightn’t notice until she’s halfway to death.

     A patch of green beside the fence-line beckons her to sit. Her head spins after lowering herself but it only helps her to pretend the green is grass instead of paint. Her eyes close, arms wrap around her knees, and it doesn’t matter who sees her ditching anymore.

     “CASEY!”

     “Hedwig?”

     It could be in her head, but the familiar, thundering steps of an excited Hedwig tells her it’s real. She’s on her feet immediately, eyes searching for any sign of him as he crashes against the wire fence.

     “Happy Birthday, Casey!” Hedwig bellows. “Miss Patricia says you’re busy but Jade says you’re… you’re busy. Et thetera. But Mr Dennis let me go with him to get you a present, you know, if you want it. You don’t… have to have it. It… it might be dumb. I saw a frog yesterday.”

     “Hedwig…”

     Casey’s fingers slip through the gaps in the wire until they’re holding his hand as best she can. Tears well in her eyes, large and warm, as she loses the ability to breathe.

     “You don’t have’ta cry about it, Case,” Hedwig replies sheepishly. “You don’t have’ta like it… et thetera…”

     “I’m…” Nothing she can say could ever convey the extent of her relief. He didn’t hate her, had missed her, had _remembered her—_ had even remembered the birthday she’d forgotten. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

     Hedwig grinned and tossed the small gift-bag over the fence.

     “I picked it out, y’know.”

     Casey smiled and wiped her tears with her palm before carefully opening the bag. She saw the socks first, three thick pairs in shades of red, and sobbed out a laugh.

     “I love them. Thank you, Hedwig.”

     She looked him in the eye, saw something mature hovering nearby, and looked back to the socks.

     “You too, Dennis.”

     “Pfffft. It was _all me,_ ” Hedwig scoffed. “I was like _‘Bam!’_ and kicked them off the table. It was… awesome.”

     Casey nodded, letting Hedwig talk about the snail he’d decided to keep as a pet, and focused on the envelope in the bag. She didn’t recognise the handwriting—much too neat for Hedwig—and felt almost giddy with curiosity.

     The card inside was entirely white. There were no pictures or gaudy messages, no so much as a thumbprint or ruffling of the edges.

     “Oh yeah, that’s from everybody, y’know.”

     “Everyone?”

     She opened the card and realised what he’d meant. Over a dozen different styles of handwriting, in cursive and print, all wishing her well in various ways. Barry offered to take her out for the day, while Jade offered to take her somewhere fun instead. Patricia had written a poem, something supposedly found in a greeting card, whereas Luke asked when his “cute sis” was going to come visit.

     She hadn’t met him yet, yet he’d signed it along with the others.

     It was the message at the bottom that gripped her heart. Only three words, unsigned, with a phone number written underneath: “ **_I mean it._ ** _”_

     “Hedwig, I’m so—”

     “Casey Cooke!”

      _No, no, no!_

     She was supposed to be invisible. Forgotten. Irredeemable. Teachers were meant to have given up on her.

     “Hedwig, you have to go.”

     “But I don’t wanna,” Hedwig whined. “I miss you. Et thetera.”

     “I know, I miss you t—”

     “Casey, what are you doing?”

     She didn’t know his name. There was no point in learning them if they’d only make her feel more guilty for what she said.

     “Who’s this?” he asked, gesturing towards Hedwig. “Sir, you can’t be here.”

     “Casey?”

     He sounded so small.

     “I don’t know what this is,” the teacher said as he eyed them both, “but it’s not acceptable. This is a school.”

     “He was just leaving,” Casey replied, only to realise she’d done so too quickly.

     He thought they were hiding something.

     “Casey, I knew you were… but to do this at school—”

     “Whatever you think, it isn’t what it looks like. Really, it’s not.”

     He was already pulling out his phone. Security would be there in minutes, and Hedwig would be taken away.

     Arrested, maybe.

     She remembered what Barry had said, how people treated Hedwig because they didn’t understand. She looked through the fence to Hedwig’s face, registered the fear as it moved and shifted, and realised she didn’t have any other choice.

     As hard as she could manage, she threw her arms around until the teacher was forced backwards.

     “I TOLD YOU ALL TO FUCK OFF! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

     She took off running back to the school, gift bag clutched between her fingers, never once looking back to make sure Dennis had taken the Light and left.

* * *

 

“What’s gotten _into_ you, Casey? First the cutting, now you’re swinging at teachers?”

     Casey didn’t say anything. She kept her eyes out the window, watching as the world flew by.

     “Damn it!”

     He hit the steering wheel.

     Hit it a second time.

     A third.

     “Why are you doing this to me?”

     Casey tries to breathe.

* * *

 

The gift-bag is still under her shirt when she leaves. John had passed out on the couch hours earlier, half naked and covered in bottles. She walks past him but pauses; it would be so easy to slide a pillow over his face. He’d had twice the usual amount to drink and wore himself out twice after they arrived home. Even if he woke, he wouldn’t be able to do anything.

     She feels weak when she walks away. No matter how old she is, she will never be anything more than that frightened little girl who couldn’t pull the trigger.

     The walk to the park seems longer in the darkness. The emptiness of the streets gave way to feelings of paranoia, her own shadow teasing her into fearing for her safety.

     The calm she felt always upon entering the park had left with the sun. The trees were too large and overwhelming, hiding the promise of pain should she step in the wrong place. Only the bench—their bench—brings her comfort. There were too many memories, all good, that surrounded it. A beacon of hope, of understanding and peace.

     She crawls under it, making sure to tuck herself in tightly. Spiders watch her from the mounds of aging gum pressed upon the underside, but even then she feels at home.

     How strange to find a home in a park with insects. It almost makes her laugh, but she’s too afraid she may cry instead.

     “Where’d she go?”

     “You sure you saw someone?”

     “Yeah, and she was _aching_ for it.”

     The footsteps grew louder as the group talked. Casey knew they were looking for her, but couldn’t find it in herself to feel afraid. She was powerless and helpless, but she’d felt it so often that it didn’t matter anymore.

     “You’re full of shit.”

     “Imagining pussy because Carly won’t put out anymore.”

     “Fuck off, she’s always good for it.”

     “Why don’t you prove it?”

     “Fuck _you._ ”

     An hour passes before they leave, but she waits another thirty minutes before making her escape. The pavement echoes through the streets as she sprints home, racing up the stairs and slamming through the door before remembering she’s meant to be quiet.

     John is still on the couch, still covered in bottles, still asleep.

     Would he have noticed her missing at all?

     She moves back to her room and eases the door closed behind her. The floor is still there, still sturdy and enduring. It’s the resilience she sees in the floorboards that breaks her apart.

     For the first time in a month, Casey lets herself cry.

     When she wakes the next morning, she’s curled on the floor with dried tears coating her face. Her back aches, but a lump beneath her shirt has pressed itself against the skin of her belly.

     She could call them. Dennis said she could. Something about the way he said it, the message he wrote her, tells her he might understand.

     “Get up, you’re still going to school!”

     John’s voice reminds her it’s useless, so she waits until he’s showering before placing the bag with her other treasures and tries to forget.


	6. Acceptance

Somewhere along the line, the school had given up on Casey. She had been pushed through the cracks as the detentions piled up, the write-ups climbing at an unprecedented rate. They labelled a drug addict for “ _meeting strange men_ ” on the fence line. Some whispered rumours of her “ _scandalous relationship with older men._ ”

     In a way, Casey found it funny how close they were to the truth. Hedwig— _Kevin—_ was more than one man, and there were some who would consider their acceptance of each other as scandalous.

     The school grasped at straws to label her, branding Hedwig a perverted drug dealer— _Hedwig_ of all people _—_ yet hadn’t stopped to ask themselves why else he may have been there. Other students often met with outsiders on that same fence, exchanging smiles or cash through the chain links. It was never assumed they were delinquents, but then, she supposed those others never yelled at their teachers. They didn’t carry a sign on their backs marking them as worthless.

     Still, it wasn’t fair. Hedwig hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t deserved to feel so scared.

     The clock ticked over and signalled an end to that evening's detention. Mr Green had stepped out “ _for a sec_ ” half an hour earlier leaving Casey plenty of time to skip out, but she hadn’t the energy. The solitude gave her time to think and remember, to replace the usual thoughts with ones of flowers and grass.

     No one could judge her for smiling if she were alone. They wouldn’t pry or read more into it, and she could let herself relax for a few precious seconds

     “Casey Cooke? Are you alone in here?”

     The desk pulled at Casey, urging her to ignore the woman’s voice in favour of sinking into the laminated plywood. She considered what might happen if she gave into it, if she rid herself of the pressure to speak and simply fell into a self-inflicted coma. Would the woman leave her alone, consider her a lost cause, and leave? Or would she do something, ask further, panic and phone an ambulance.

     If the latter, what would happen then? Casey knew she could keep quiet even when others used force to try and make her cry out. No one would catch her attention, much less strike up a conversation she would partake in.

     Then, if she were unresponsive, would they release her into John’s care? Or would they peel off her armour, shirt by shirt, until they discovered what a disgusting waste of human flesh she was?

     Would they laugh?

     What would John say? How would he explain it? Would they put her pieces together and see the greater image?

     “Is… everything okay?”

     The thoughts ended and left behind a series of curses. She knew better than to think like that; nothing good came of hope.

     “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t see what time it was.”

     The weight of the woman’s eyes urged Casey into motion. She gathered her things, threw her bag over one shoulder, and hurried to the door. The weight grew stronger, imposing a lethargy in Casey’s muscles she hadn’t felt since the last concerned adult, so she kept her eyes on her feet. The last thing she needed was another false flag waving misplaced kindness in her face.

     “I’m—We met once, a few months ago,” the woman said. “When you were suspended. Do you remember?”

     Casey paused but said nothing, hoping the woman would let her pass.

     “I’m a counsellor. Cha- _Ms_ Reynolds.”

     “Oh, sorry,” Casey stepped closer to the door, but Ms Reynolds hadn’t moved. “I forgot.”

     “ _Casey…_ ”

     That tone, that defeated sigh of a “ _You aren’t living up to your potential, you’re such a pretty, smart girl_ ” tone. It was meant to disarm but cut Casey’s nerves like a blunt cheese grater. She didn’t want another _conversation_ , another look of naive understanding.

     “Is there something wrong at home?” unknowing or uncaring of Casey’s reluctance, Ms Reynolds continued with her questioning. “I heard someone visited you at school a few weeks ago. Are they… are you in any trouble?”

     The sudden boom of hysterical laughter raised the hairs on Casey’s arms. It was a wild noise, a painful scratching with no ending, and totally unrecognisable. It wasn’t Casey’s laugh, but one that came from her soul, from the pit of her gut and the acid in her throat; a sound born of incredulity and agony.

     “Casey?”

     The laughter stopped as quickly as it had started.

     “If… If there is, I can help you,” Ms Reynolds said. “We can talk about it, see if we can set up a plan or system that can help.”

     “I’m… I’m fine,” Casey replied. “Really.”

     “Are you sure? Because you don’t seem fine. Your behaviour is escalating, but you’re so well behaved in detention that Ma—Mr Green feels comfortable eating in the teacher’s lounge because he knows you won’t run off.”

     Casey made sure to stay still, careful not to give any part of herself away.

     “If something is happening, at home… There _is_ help, Casey. You _aren’t alone._ ”

     There was a plea there, caught somewhere between the vowels, that sounded so genuine. Casey looked at Ms Reynolds, studied the furrow of her brow and the growing red around her eyes. It wasn’t a trick, or a lie, or an _anything_ other than an offer.

     “I…”

_‘Where’d she go?’_

_‘You sure you saw someone?’_

_‘Yeah, and she was aching for it.’_

     It wouldn’t be any different. Even if she told someone, if John were thrown in jail and left to rot, it would happen again. She wouldn’t have anywhere to go, anywhere to be safe.

     At least she knew John wouldn’t burn her face.

     “I’m fine, thank you, just… tired. I’ll try harder.”

     Ms Reynold’s face fell, but she stepped aside all the same. The weight of her eyes fell atop Casey’s shoulders as she passed, weighing her down even after she arrived home.

* * *

 

John never remembered the mail. It was one of the many reasons he only heard about half of Casey’s troubles at school, as she’d learned to forge his signature as a child. It was the only thing she could do when he wouldn’t wake from his stupor; there was no way she could pass up a school trip (and the distance it gave her from him) just because he decided to drink himself into oblivion.

     There were only bills. Junk mail, if she were lucky. Some pamphlets offering to save their souls if only they donated a small amount of cash. She hadn’t expected anything else when she visited the locked mailbox of their apartment block, so when she saw the fluoro pink envelope, she immediately looked around the room for whoever the true owner of it was.

     It wasn’t until the glittery stars and bright stickered hearts stuck to the exterior of the envelope caught her eye that she thought to see who it had been addressed to, but even then she thought it must have been some mistake.

     Was there another Casey Cooke in her building? No, there wasn’t, yet she knew there was no one who would write to her.

     She dropped the other mail, ignoring the way they spilled out of the small box and onto the floor, and carefully opened the letter.

* * *

 

_Little dove,_

_We have decided to contact you. Hedwig misses you greatly and asks about you every day. I hope our contact won’t bring you any heartache, however, it was a chance we were forced to take._

      _Please respond to the address listed on the back of the envelope as quickly as possible. I have put a blank envelope with a stamp in with this letter so it won’t be any trouble for you. We are concerned for your well-being and must know what’s happening immediately._

      _If there is anything we can do to help you, we are here._

      _If you cannot call, write._

      _Yours always,_

      _Miss Patricia ~~~~_

* * *

 

Casey slumped to the floor, the letter pressed against her lips as she closed her eyes and inhaled. Patricia had sprayed it with perfume, something thick and full of musk. It tore at her tears, begging them to mix on the carefully written letters.

* * *

 

~~_To_ _my_ ~~

_To Casey_

_Mr Dennis said he’d help me write you a letter because I_ ~~_want_ ~~

_Mr Dennis said he’d help me write you a letter because I wanna say a lot but I burnt my hands on the stove and now I can’t write. Mr Dennis and Miss Patricia said it’s because I was playing around when they told me not to but I wasn’t! (Hedwig was caught melting crayons. Do not give him sympathy.)_

      _I_ ~~_don’t know_ ~~

     _I dunno what Mr Dennis is writing but it’s too much so I made him fix it._

      ~~_Anyway_ ~~

      _Annyywwaayy I saw a really cool dog yesterday and I wanted to tell you before I forgot. He was really big and brown and got drool all over my pants but don’t tell Mr Dennis or he’ll be mad. (I told Hedwig I couldn’t understand what he was saying because he wanted it to stay between you both. Please don’t tell him.) I gave it lots of hugs and it licked my face but then this mean lady told me I was_ ~~_going to_ ~~

      _I gave it lots of hugs and it licked my face but then this mean lady told me I was gonna do mean things to it so I had to go away. I miss you Casey let’s go to the park ~~real~~ _ ~~_ly_ ~~

      _I gave it lots of hugs and it licked my face, but then this mean lady told me I was gonna do mean things to it so I had to go away. I miss you Casey let’s go to the park real soon ok?_

      _HE D W IG END MIZTER DE NN IS_

      _PS I miss you C as ey_

* * *

 

_hey little lady Patricia told us you cant come out just now so we wanted to send you a lil somethin to get you threw til you break out Don’t listen to nobody who tells you to stay put if you wanna get loose heggie says your uncles a bad ombray so you dont need to feel bad about it or nothin like that even the big man himself Jesus Christ flipped a few tables when he was mad maybe you should do a few weights & see what you can do dont forget to give us a ring if you wanna hang out or somethin the kid really misses you but no pressure course its up to you well still be here ha ha ha aint goin nowhere fast lil lady so have a good long think and let us no thats about it from me so like barry says CHOW this has been LUKE _

* * *

 

_God, I knew Luke was an idiot but I had no idea he wrote like THAT. If he ever asks you why he’s not allowed into the Light, tell him it’s because he can’t spell it._

      _I hope you’re doing okay, girl. Let’s have that sleepover soon? We’ll dress up in Patricia’s clothes and act like we’ve got poles up our ass. She’ll be FURIOUS. And Barry. He’s such a fucking snob. I found ALL my earrings in the trash last week. “They’re out of date” like his attitude isn’t. Girl, let’s just fucking GO. We’ll steal a car, you can drive right? Don’t sweat the details. We’ll shake our tits at some lonely perv and get a ride to Cali. Better than this dump, ugh, I swear if I see one more cloud I’m going to SCREAM. No one lets me use fake tan anymore but how else is a girl meant to stop looking like a cream puff? Come out soon, we’ll go to a tanning booth and get skin cancer together._

      _Miss you hun._

_xoxoxoxoxoxoxXx~~Jade~~xXxoxoxoxoxoxox_

* * *

_Dearest Casey_

_I write to you to express my immense dismay at our shared circumstances. The boy has little understanding in the ways of adults though I assure you his need for intimate personal relationships is being met enthusiastically we few others._

      _With regards to his studies, they have continued despite his many displays of reluctance. We have reached the pinnacle of his understanding in regards to Philosophical Aesthetics and, at his insistence, have moved forward into a discussion of Wei Shu. I note the particular incident, which took place in 195 when Lü Bu marched on what Chengshi County and suffered a historic defeat at the hands of Cao Cao. This tale of strategy and cunning enraptured young Hedwig and, after further discussion, I was reminded of The Romance of Three Kingdoms which describes a similar incident wherein Zhuge Liang—whose deeds and military brilliance is recorded, yet found to be controversial by the greater masses and can be deemed fraudulent at worst and fictional at best—repulsed one hundred fifty thousand troops in the Wei armies despite the low number of his own soldiers and civil officials._

      _You may ask yourself how two thousand five hundred soldiers could defend against such a force, and indeed, Zhuge Liang asked himself that question. Upon realising how few his numbers were and how likely defeat may soon come for him, he commanded those soldiers to remove all banners and other displays related, and for those soldiers to then hide in silence under penalty of death._

      _When Sima Yi’s scouts approached the city, they discovered twenty soldiers disguised as ordinary people cleaning the gates and Zhuge Liang in Daoist dress beside a stick of incense and a lute. The scouts fled, confused by the incredible sight of a man paying no mind to his approaching death, and informed Sima Yi of what they had seen. Sima Yi, incredulous and unnerved, halted the advance and rode forward to attend Zhuge Liang and witness his brazen act. When he approached he saw Liang playing his loot beside his camouflaged soldiers as they toiled around him. Sima Yi knew of Liang’s cunning and determined the incident to be a ruse, one that would surely spell victory for Liang in the form of an ambush should Yi attack, and ordered an immediate retreat._

      _I hope this provides some comfort to you and eases your conscience should you suffer indecision regarding the previous offer made._

_Sincerely_

_Orwell_

* * *

 

Casey read Orwell’s letter a second time, then a third, but failed to understand what comfort it offered besides it being proof someone thought of her. She ran her hand over the paper, indulging herself in the grooves and raises, and couldn’t help but smile. Each of them sounded different in their letters, more behaved and restrained, yet their voices were so clear it nearly didn’t matter.

     As she had the gift bag, she stuffed the letters under her shirt. They were too precious to risk being seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :') moar 2 cum


	7. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big trigger warnings for this. nothing graphic but heavily implied.

_Patricia,_

_Thank you for thinking of me. I wanted to call, but had trouble with my phone. I’d like to write to you all if you don’t mind. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch, things have been busy at school._

      _I hope you’re well, and I’m sorry I can’t write a longer letter. I’ll do better next time._

      _Casey_

* * *

 

“You look different,” John’s eyes roamed over her in search of the answer. “What’s going on?”

     There was no good response. Anything Casey said will be wrong, would open her to attack. She settled for a shrug and slung her backpack over her shoulder as she mumbled: “Nothing.”

     “Nothing at school?” John pushed, unwilling to let it go. “Not being bullied?”

     “No more than usual. Nothing I can’t handle.”

     “Right, right…”

     He let the wooden chair grate across the floor as he stood, let the harshness of it chill her to her core before he continued.

     “Got a call yesterday from the school, from Mr Green. Says you were talking to a counsellor.”

     The door is too far behind him, too out of reach. They’re on the third floor so the windows were out of the question. Even if she made it, she would only be dragged back.

     “She told him you’re having a rough time, to lay off you a bit,” he chuckled then, as though he’d never heard anything so ridiculous. “Says she wouldn’t say why till he pushed a bit, then she said something about bullyin’.”

     “I didn’t tell her anything.”

     She could feel the floorboards through her shoes but it wasn’t enough to steady her. It was easier when John was drunk; the alcohol filled his head with steam, made him uneasy and unbalanced. Sober, he was more dangerous than any creature Casey had ever heard of.

     “Didn’t tell her anything? What would you have told her?”

     His steps fell out of time with her heart but stayed just as heavy.

     “That I’m all you’ve got? That you love me? That I do everything I can to make you feel good even when you’re acting like a brat?”

     He hadn’t brushed his teeth and the smell of last night’s microwave dinner sat thick on his tongue.

     “That you’re nothing but an animal?”

     Casey closed her eyes and saw a message printed on her lids. It’s only three words, barely a sentence, but she drew comfort from it regardless.

      _‘I mean it.’_

     Whatever the reason, Casey believed it.

* * *

 

_Hedwig!_

_Thank you so much for your letter. Is your hand doing better? I bet you were really tough when it happened, but now you’ve taught the stove a lesson I hope you stay away from it._

      _The dog sounds really cool! Maybe we can find a dog park and meet some dogs soon. I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I’ll try extra hard to see you, but you just need to wait a little longer._

      _I drew a picture of you and the dog. I hope you like it._

      _Can you draw me a picture too?_

      _Love, Casey_

      _To the editor: Thank you._

* * *

 

John had already called the school before their confrontation to let them know Casey’s cousin had taken a turn for the worst. She and John would be out of state for a week or so—maybe longer if she relapsed or didn’t take to treatment—and asked for any homework to be made accessible to Casey by email.

     The school asked no questions. They were used to absences, and with Casey’s behaviour, they were probably relieved. It hurt to hear how charming he was on the phone, the obvious bragging of how well he’s done “ _as a single parent,_ ” but Casey refused to break.

     It was just as well. Opening her mouth had only led to further nightmares.

* * *

 

_Jade, I have no idea what Luke and Orwell are talking about. Is something happening? Why are they talking about breakouts? Did something bad happen?_

      _You couldn’t pay me to dress in Patricia’s clothes. She’ll take me shopping again. I’m not stealing a car, but I think we could get Barry to do it for us if we convince him it’s only borrowing. I’m ready for California when you are._

      _Seriously though, what’s happening?_

      _Casey_

      _PS, I don’t know what to say to Luke or Orwell and I don’t think I will till I understand what they meant. Can you make an excuse for me?_

* * *

 

Weeks passed. Casey waited impatiently for a reply, for some sign she was remembered, but it never came. She still checked the mailbox when she could, but the journey between it and the apartment was tedious.

     The more physical reminders had disappeared, but she couldn’t forget. The ghost of an ache on her thighs made walking a fearsome thing, the memory of the bite still vivid. Her clothes burned her skin with every brush, pulling at the dried remnants of her own despair.

     Yet, she continued. Always forward, always moving. She hadn’t been alone in the world since she was twelve years old and sitting on a lonely park bench, and she knew in her soul that would continue.

     She just had to believe in it. If she did, it would come true, wouldn’t it?

     The box was empty, as it had been the day before and the day before that. A ‘ _NO JUNK_ ’ sticker had been placed on every box, so she hadn’t even the company of the preachers asking for donations.

     As she limped back to the apartment, she wondered if she was wrong to believe.

* * *

 

The metal bucket caught the light and threw it against the walls of her room. No matter how she pulled the curtains, the patterns mocked her, blinding her to distraction.

     She’d asked what it was for when John brought it in. He laughed and told her she’d figure it out soon enough.

     She did when he installed the lock on her door.

     “ _The neighbours saw you sneakin’ ‘round,_ ” he’d said. “ _When will you learn, Casey-bear?_ ”

     An acrid scent wafted from that corner of the room. She pulled at the curtain again, then the blind behind it, to no avail. Outside, the street is full of life. A line of school children cross the road in tandem, a cyclist merges onto the footpath and nearly takes out a man carrying boxes.

     It’s unfair.

     Why should they be allowed out there, in the light, when she’s trapped in the darkness?

     What had she done to earn a prison sentence?

     Why hadn’t her school cared? Why hadn’t they remembered John was her only family? That her supposed cousin always got sick a week before she limped into school again?

     It wasn’t fair.

     It wasn’t _fair._

     She was more than this, wasn’t she? More than an animal, more than a beast, more than a slave.

     The light from the bucket hit her eyes. She stomped over to it, face curling in disgust at the contents, and threw it through the window.

     Glass shattered. There was a sound from below, a shout of surprise.

     The floorboard was already lifted. She gathered the contents in her bag, careful to wrap them in a spare hoodie, and looked around the room.

     There was nothing she wanted. Nothing she would miss.

     She slipped on her shoes and stepped off the ledge, uncaring as to whether there was a fire escape or not.

     No matter what, Casey would be free.


	8. Animal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for your lovely comments and feedback! i know i keep saying it, but i'm so, so happy you're enjoying this so far! thank you so much for reading! <3

Broken glass slipped between the gaps of Casey’s shoes. John had never paid much attention to whether they were worn. Conversations, real ones, between the two had never existed. Falsehoods, stories, lies—a charade of kindness which disappeared the moment he was in her sights.

     What would her father think if he could see her? Would he feel shame for having raised such a weak child?

     Had he lived long enough to have raised her at all?

     The woods were all she remembered; rustling leaves, the cool grip of an autumn breeze as it passed over her skin, the crunch of footfalls against the remains of Summer over the forest floor.

      _“Let’s pretend we’re animals.”_

     Broken glass fell from her clothing. Her torn skin wept, mourned for her in ways she couldn’t let herself yet.

      _“Casey-bear.”_

     She would be an animal. Pretend she was an animal. Let instinct reign, controlled by adrenaline and fear.

     Her feet set the course, mind trailing behind like the smoke of an emergency flare. No wind rustles through her hair, no breeze prickles her eyes, yet her surroundings were too difficult for her eyes to latch onto. It’s a whirl, a tremendous reckoning for the senses, and it felt as though she could be flying.

     “Hey, woah! Are you okay?”

     Casey didn’t stop.

     Casey couldn’t stop.

                             “Is she bleeding?”

                 “Oh my God—!”

                             “What happened?”

                 “Was there an attack?!”

     Each voice blended into the next, a watercolour of sound with the stubbornness of oil. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t let herself be caught, couldn’t trust a single soul.

      _“I’m all you need, Casey.”_

     She ran.

* * *

  _“I saw a film yesterday.”_

_“You? But I thought you hated movies.”_

_Mr Pritchard waved her off, apparently delighted she indulged him in conversation often enough to joke about it._

_“It’s a film by Wakamatsu Koji. You may recall what I’ve said of his work; he films in black and white, adding colour as a diversion. This piece reminded me of you… of all of us.”_

_Casey shifted on the park bench until she had faced him. One arm hung loose over the back, the other propping her head against her knees, “What’s it about?”_

_“It’s…” he froze for a moment, only to return with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that. Patricia wanted to remind me of your age.”_

_“I’m almost fifteen.”_

_“You have an interesting definition for the word ‘almost.’”_

_Casey brushed him off, “Jade doesn’t care. She tells me all about—”_

_“Please, don’t explain,” Mr Pritchard said through a wince. “I’ve heard more than enough from the peanut gallery on the topic already.”_

_“Then you know nothing you say could mess me up. I’m a big girl, I can handle… Wackymatso.”_

_“Wakamatsu Koji,” he corrected. “His film tells the story of a girl, though most would say it’s about a boy. She is forcibly… hugged, by a group of other boys.”_

_Casey stiffened; she appreciated the softness of Mr Pritchard’s voice, the care he took to mind her innocence, yet guilt spilled from somewhere deep inside her. The toned down explanation was wasted on a person such as her. She knew what he meant, what it felt like, and wished more than before that she could remember what it was to know nothing._

_“The boy, Tsukio, watches as Poppo—that’s her name—is hugged, but does nothing to stop it.”_

_“Maybe he couldn’t stop it,” Casey whispered. “Maybe the boys were too strong.”_

_Something like pain strangled Mr Pritchard’s face, pulled it towards the centre until he was barely recognisable. It lasted half a second, but the ghost of anguish remained ever after he found his composure._

_“They speak after it ends. She remembers another time she had been… hugged. It’s shown in colour, whereas the rest of the film is black and white, to express how deeply it affected her.”_

_“What… happens?” Casey asked. “After that?”_

_Mr Pritchard’s shoulders slouched, his eyes cast downward as his brow furrowed in thought._

_“Poppo asks Tsukio to… end her suffering.”_

_“…does he?”_

_“No,” Mr Pritchard continued, “he tells her of the time boys hugged him without asking.”_

_Casey’s heart thrummed in her ears._

_“They were the same?”_

_He fixed her an odd look before shaking his head. “Yes, they were the same. When the boys come back and hug Poppo a second time, Tsukio intervenes, and the two of them… find comfort. I view the ending as a metaphor for moving forward, though Patricia begs to differ.”_

_The real ending was of no interest to Casey, with the idea of comfort and commiseration too far-fetched to believe._

_“How did he stop them?” she asked, leaning forward to search Mr Pritchard’s face._

_When she reached his eyes, saw the intensity of the unspoken answer, she wondered who those eyes belonged to. But then, the body shivered and they changed again. Patricia pulled her close, her arms far too tight around her shoulders as Casey burrowed into her chest._

_“Poppy survived, little dove, they both survived. It’s all that matters.”_

_“H-How?”_

_The word was strained, pushed roughly from her throat and onto Patricia’s now damp shirt before Casey realised it. She hated how small it sounded, but took solace in how large Patricia seemed in comparison._

_“She found faith in herself. She believed,” Patricia cooed. “You are what you believe you are, Casey, and don’t you_ dare _ever forget it.”_

* * *

 The flowers were gone. The cart was gone. All that remained were bruised petals trodden into the pavement.

     A man across the street threw his arm towards her. He spoke to a policeman, who pointed at her as well.

     Maybe he could help. She could tell him about her uncle and he could save her. She could go to the police station and… and…

     And what?

     “ _You don’t want to go to jail, Casey-bear. So don’t tell anyone._ ”

     No, it was a lie. She was no longer a child so easily convinced. She wouldn’t wait for the police to come to her, she would go to them herself. Hold her head high. Speak her piece. Tell the world what good ol’ Uncle John liked to do when the streetlights came on.

     “ _Everyone knows how much I love you. I’d die for you, Casey. They all know. Don’t tell lies because no one will believe you._ ”

     The police officer looked away from her, his attention on his radio. She took the opportunity to run around the corner, legs screaming their objections as she hastened her pace. She ran until she couldn’t feel the shards in her shoes, until her knees were weak, until she couldn’t breathe, and then she kept running.

     Left, straight, through a store, right, straight, left, through another store.

     She didn’t stop until she saw the phone booth.

     Her fingers slipped over her wallet, failing to pull it out of her jeans until she forced herself to exhale. The coin shocked her as it rattled through the slot, the phone heavy in her hand as she stared at the numbers.

     She’d memorised the number written in the card, just as she’d memorised the address on the back of the envelope. John couldn’t be trusted not to check her phone records or steal the phone itself, and she’d found comfort in knowing the information by heart.

     Her index finger pressed each button with a level of reverence she might be embarrassed by later. She held the speaker to her ear and strained to imagine Patricia answering the phone.

     “ _Hello?_ ”

     Barry. It was Barry.

     It was wrong to call. He wouldn’t like the trouble. It was a risk, Hedwig might get hurt.

     “ _Babygirl, is that you?_ ”

     Something inhuman escaped her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see for everything she felt. Barry would help, it would be okay. He would know what to do and how to fix everything. Barry was good, he was so good, so kind and full of life. It would be okay, it would all be okay.

     “ _Oh, honey, breathe for me. In, there you go, out. In, out. It’s okay, Casey, it’s okay. I’m here, we’re all here, it’s okay, baby, it’s going to be just fine.”_

     Casey sobbed into the receiver as her knees fell out from under her.

     “ _I’m so proud of you, babygirl, I’m so proud of you. You’re so strong, Casey, it’s going to be okay, just breathe. Just breathe, I’m here, we’re gonna get you through this. Where are you? I’ll come get you right now._ ”

     Casey tried to speak, but all that came out was a jumble of words. She told him about the flowers, about the policeman, about the petals and iris. He listened to it all, gently directing her through the phone to get more information. She heard the keys spin in his hand and let out another sob, apologising for everything she could think of.

     “ _You don’t tell me sorry. You don’t tell anyone you’re sorry.”_

     “My feet hurt.”

     “ _Stay with me, Casey. I’m coming now. I’ll find you. Just stay with me._ ”

     A knock. Another knock. Casey’s breath caught as she looked through the glass of the booth, only to realise she’d heard it through the phone.

     “ _Just hold on, there’s Jehovah’s Witnesses or some—_ ”

     Barry stopped talking.

     Casey panicked.

     “Barry? Barry?”

     “ _Stay there. Don’t move._ ”

     “...Dennis?”

     “ _Stay where you are, Casey._ ”

     The phone went dead.


	9. Instinct

Casey did what she was told. She didn’t move. She stayed where she was.

     Dennis did not come for her.

* * *

 

“ _ I’d take us for a ride in the ol’ jalopy, see, but I don’t wanna get a smack in the kisser. _ ”

_      Heinrich never made much sense to Casey, but he always kept a smile on her face. _

_     “Last time I tried ta take ‘er for a spin, the old boy threatened ta give me the ol’ one-two right in the kissa. I already seen enough stars, see. Can’t drive inna straight line when Sheba’s walkin’ down the street. Gotta stop and wave, see, give ‘em a bitta love to make their day sparkle.” _

_     “I… what?” she laughed. “Who’s Sheba?” _

_     “You are, doll. Or ya will be when you grown. Howzabout I take ya out on the town when ya older, take ya to the Ritz. I’m a pushover for a Moll, see, but we’ll keep it out the struggle buggy and on the up-an’-up. Nice and classy, see, make the boys jealous.” _

_     She wondered how he managed to flirt (if it was that) without making her panic. Maybe it was the distance he kept between them, or the dramatic way he acted out every word he said. Maybe it was the smirk, how it said she was in on the joke of making his roommates panic over how he spoke to her. _

_     “You got it, toots. We’ll… light ‘em up?” _

_     Heinrich grinned, but it was lost when a worried Polly burst into the Light and launched herself at Casey’s feet to ask forgiveness and insult Heinrich as much as possible. _

_     “It’s okay, dollface.” _

_     “Oh, don’t you start!” _

* * *

 

So what?

    Who cared if Dennis wasn’t coming? Casey didn’t. She didn’t need him or his help. She was more than capable of looking after herself. Barry had wanted her to come, hadn’t he? And Patricia would, even if it were only a short visit. Hedwig… maybe once she cleaned herself up so he wasn’t frightened, he would be glad to see her too.

    No, there was no maybe with Hedwig.

    Hedwig would want to see her no matter what.

    It wasn’t a surprise Dennis hadn’t come for her. She’d barely spoken with him over the years and always wondered if he accepted her. She was Hedwig’s friend, but that didn’t mean she would be his as well.

    If he didn’t want her there, she’d just make it a quick visit. Get cleaned up. Go over her options.

    She could always leave the city. It had been years since she stepped foot outside the limits, but it wouldn’t be too difficult to live off the land. She could build a hut in the woods like the ones her father told her about. Make traps for small game. Lose herself in the wild until her name was forgotten and no one thought of her anymore.

    It was a hysterical thought but she clung to it like a large stone in the rapids. She knew it wouldn’t work, she  _ knew  _ she would get hurt, but it was all she had.

    She would survive. She would live. She would believe in herself until the dream of a stronger Casey became a reality.

    With some struggle, she pressed herself against the phone booth and slid herself to her feet. The bus wouldn’t take her anywhere close to the address on the envelope and she couldn’t risk walking. She had no idea how long she’d been gone, whether John had noticed her missing or not, and didn’t want to ruin all she’d accomplished if he were out looking for her.

    She pulled out her phone and let the screen light up.

**_19 MISSED CALLS_ **

    The only person who had her number was John.

    She cleared the notifications, unlinked his details from her account in case he remembered how to view her location, and ordered an Uber.

* * *

 

“But… you’re sure?”

    “Yeah, I’m sure. That’s definitely the address.”

    The driver turned to look at her, “You don’t want a hospital?”

    She shook her head, but he seemed unconvinced.

    “Stage makeup. I’m in a play.”

    “Right, and that’s why you wanna go to the worst part of town?”

    She stared at him, words too distant to grasp. Excuses too out of reach.

    He shook his head, turned back in his seat, and put the car into drive, “You’re the customer.”

* * *

 

The apartments looked nothing like how she’d envisioned them. For a start, she expected an apartment building like her own instead of what could pass for a roadside motel. The exterior was covered in chipped paint and dirt, the parking lot a mess of highway garbage. A television blared from somewhere on the first floor, while a child somewhere higher screamed at the top of their lungs. It was surreal to think Hedwig or any of the others lived somewhere so apathetically miserable when they themselves were so full of life.

    The Uber crawled away and Casey steeled her nerves. She told herself it wasn’t an imposition, that friends visited friends all the time, and limped herself onto the property.

    She paid no mind to the scattered cars as she moved by them. All her focus was required to find Apartment 2H while the world spun around her. She told herself again it would be fine, but each step closer brought with it further doubts.

    Maybe they hadn’t meant to leave her alone, but had gotten lost when searching for her. Or there had been an emergency and they needed to leave the state but couldn’t contact her to let her know. Or, maybe they’d been in an accident, one they wouldn’t have been in if only she’d stopped herself from calling, and were in an ambulance.

    She took the stairs two at a time in her rush to know. Apartments A through E rushed by in a blur, but she pushed herself to move faster still. The corner came on her quickly and she turned without looking, and crashed head first into someone carrying something in their arms.

    “S-Sorry—” she brushed by them, eyes on her feet, and hobbled further down the hall until a loud thud echoed behind her and brought her to an abrupt halt.

    “Casey?”

    Her eyes burned, head spun, thoughts swam, ear rung.

    “Dennis?”

    He caught her arm and pulled her around to face him.

    “Your clothes, you’re…”

    “I’m sorry.”

    “They’re ruined.”

    “ _ I’m sorry. _ ”

    “Look at you, did… did he do this to you?”

    Casey chanced a look at Dennis’ face and found it was as swollen as her own.

    “What—what happ—”

    “Later,” he pulled a key from his keyring and placed it in her hands. “Don’t look, Casey. Go inside, take your shoes off. Sit in the bathroom.”

    “What?” she tried to look behind him but he crowded over her, forcing her to focus only on him.

    “ _ Don’t look, _ ” he repeated. “Go inside. I’ll be back in five minutes. Do not open the door unless you hear my voice.”

    Speechless, Casey tried to look behind him again. He sighed and ran a hand over his head, then used it to cover her eyes as he guided her towards the room. When she was safely inside, he let her lean on him as she removed her shoes. Blood soaked through her socks and left marks against the tiling, but he only commented on it once.

    “I have the key. Don’t open the door for anyone. Sit in the bathroom.”

    “I’m sor—”

    “ _ Stay here. _ ”

    She nodded twice as he closed and locked the door behind him. She didn’t move an inch, couldn’t make her way through the unfamiliar and strangely empty surroundings to the bathroom as she’d been instructed.

    She simply stood, exhausted, and waited for Dennis to come back.

* * *

 

The door opened, but it wasn’t Dennis who walked in.

    “Dahrlink, what happen?”

                             “PaaaaTRIsha is ON the WAY!”

         “Hi Casey! Why are you bleeding? Et thetra.”

                                                      “ _ No,  _ she doesn’t need Pa—jus—”

              “What—what happened? Fuck, Case—”

                                                                “—she’s all shook u—”

“—la está heri—”

    “ _ Enough _ .”

    The strength in Dennis’ voice cut through the panic of the alters and cleared Casey’s mind. She stood still, trapped as he ran his hands over his face.

    “They’re makin’ it worse.”

    “I’m s—”

    He held up a hand to cut her off.

    “Enough,” he said, but the word had softened. He sighed heavily through his nose, exhaled roughly through his mouth. “You’re gonna get blood everywhere. I’m… I’m gonna pick you up, okay? I won’t… I’ll be good. You just… you can’t… I’ll have to clean it, and...”

    She wanted to apologise again but settled for a nod.

    “Tell me if it hurts.”

    He moved towards her, each movement concise and slow, until he was stood in front of her.

    “I’m… gonna put a hand around your back and legs. I don’t know how bad it is, but…” he licked his lip, eyes on her throat. “Tell me if it hurts.”

    “Okay.”

    It took two attempts for him to lift her. She reached for his neck to hold onto him the first time, causing him to retreat immediately.

    “ _ Easy. _ ”

    The second time, Casey held both hands in her lap. Her body tensed at the contact, unaccustomed to any touch without a string attached. She forced herself to breathe as he took her to the bathroom, but only managed to find control once he lowered her onto the toilet seat.

    “Your feet, we’ve… We don’t have time for you to shower, you won’t be able to stand and I’ve gotta… I’m gonna take your shoes off and fix you up, but you’re gonna need to wash your face and change before we go.”

    “Where?” Casey asked, barely aware her shoe was being slipped off. “Why are we leaving?”

    “Patricia will talk to you about it when we get there. It’s not far.” 

    He pulled a first aid kit out of the cupboard beneath the bathroom sink and rifled through it.

    “This is gonna hurt but I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he looked to her face when she made no reply. “Trust me. Please.”

    He immediately set to work on her feet, wiping the skin with alcohol. She realised it hadn’t been a question or something he wanted an answer for, just an honest statement. Something he might want, but couldn’t bear to know if he would or wouldn’t get it.

    She tried to tell him anyway, but the pain of the tweezers as they levered out shards and crystals from her feet made anything other than sobs and screams impossible.

* * *

 

Dennis left without a word. She heard him cleaning from the bathroom and wondered if he might be doing it louder for her benefit.

    The clothes he’d brought for her looked like they’d been snatched from her wardrobe. She pulled the hoodie on, relished in how large it was, and tried to switch her jeans. The adrenaline had worn off, no longer there to protect her from the pain, but she managed not to cry out.

    She avoided the mirror as she washed her face. It felt stained and dark, filled with dirt even bleach couldn’t touch, and she knew no amount of scrubbing would help.

    The door opened behind her as she dried her face. When she turned, she saw Dennis with his arms crossed in the doorway.

    “Ready?”

    “Yes.”

    He nodded, “Before we go, I need to tell you something. Patricia… she’s going to explain it later, but I want to prepare you in case you see when we get to the car.”

    Casey’s heart accelerated as a new wave of adrenaline tried to flood her. There wasn’t enough, her stores depleted, and it sent a wave of nausea over her instead.

    “Your uncle was here. Now he’s gone. He’s in his car downstairs.”

    “He’s—”

    “He’ll wake up in a few hours,” Dennis continued. “But we were moving anyway. We were waiting here in case…” he shook his head, “All our stuff is there, so you don’t need to worry.”

    Casey disagreed with the assessment but found it hard to argue.

    “I’m going to carry you down. Close your eyes and don’t open them till I say.”

    He took a step towards her, but stopped when she finally burst.

    “Why are you doing this?”

    A mixture of confusion and anger swirled under his skin until he regained his composure. He lifted her easily, but this time he didn’t complain when she clutched his shirt.

    “Close your eyes. I’ll keep you safe.”


	10. Ground Shrinkage

“What is this place?”

     The ignition shut off but Dennis kept his hands on the wheel. He didn’t speak, didn’t move save to tighten his grip when Casey looked to him. He cracked his neck to the left as his eyes scrunched closed, tighter and tighter, until the tension in his muscles fell away all at once. He tucked his glasses into his breast pocket carelessly, their arms still partially open and catching on the material, and let out a long sigh as he turned to her.

     “Babygirl—”

     Casey didn’t think, had thought far too much already, and just let her body seek the comfort it so badly needed. She flung herself towards him, reaching and searching for anything she could latch onto, and burrowed herself into his heaving chest.

     “It’s okay, babygirl, it’s okay,”

     Her hair tangled in his hands, her back searing as his palm chased off her lingering doubts. It was okay. She wasn’t a burden strapped to their back or a cross no one was willing to bear. She was welcome, told she could rest with each squeeze and desperate word.

     “You’re okay. You’re safe. It’s okay, baby, it’s gonna be okay. Get it out, let it all out. I’ve got you, I’ve got you. You’re safe, you’re safe now.”

     Safe.

     Her chest constricted, caught by a snake born of fear and distrust. She couldn’t understand what it meant: what Barry thought it meant. Safe was the word John whispered in her ear when when he convulsed against her. It was the description he gave to excuse the fantasy he created—the fantasy he swore she wanted, said wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for her—which she could never escape.

     “You did so good, Casey. I’m so proud of you.”

     Her temple vibrated with the trembling of his chin as he confessed his pride. Condolences, promises, fear, love; they seeped from his pores, cleansing the years of filth clogging her own.

     A baptism of care and the assurance that while he could never truly shield her from pain, he would always be there to ease it.

     No strings. No demands. All Casey had to give in return was what she wanted to give; he would never ask for anything more, would never wear away at the remaining, desperate strings her heart used to keep itself from breaking completely.

     “You did so good.  Thank you, thank you.”

     She could breathe, each painful sob now an aftershock of relief.

     “You’re home now.”

     Casey let herself believe him.

* * *

 

Barry half walked, half carried Casey through through the gates. Her eyes were leaden, weighed down by sheer relief, and she barely registered they had entered a Zoo.

     It hadn’t changed much since her last visit; the small crowd was made up of the same ordinary faces, the shops and exhibits without any sign of age. Absently, she realised it looked somewhat smaller—everything had been so large when she was a grade schooler that Casey had told her father the tigers were ten feet tall—and she wondered if it was because she now knew what it meant to live in a cage.

     “Just through here, honey,” Barry wrapped an arm around her shoulder to pull her close as he unlocked the many gates. “We’re almost home. I can nearly smell the nasty ramen we’re gonna have.”

     Maybe she should have asked why he walked her through locked doors he miraculously had keys for. It was dangerous to leave the light of day behind in favour of damp walls and white lights, there was a chance she may never escape. She realised she wouldn’t mind if she never did.

     Barry’s hand rubbed along her arm as he slowed his pace. She fell harder against him, face still pressed against his shoulder as her arms fell loose by her side. Each step she took was torture, her feet ablaze with pain. He must have realised when he was forced to slow again, but when he stopped he looked more worried than anything.

     “Is it bad?”

     Casey shook her head, something Barry ignored.

     He frowned—it was strange how little it suited his face when it matched Dennis’ so well—and chewed his lip. His arm pulled her towards him again as he lent to the side, lifting her slightly before releasing her again.

     “I don’t think I can do it,” he admitted, “but I don’t wanna leave you with him again.”

     Casey didn’t know who ‘he’ was, but she didn’t want to cause any more trouble than she may have already.

     “I’m fine.”

     “And I’m Donatella Versace,” he muttered, placing a hand on her cheek to make sure she looked him in the eye. “Don’t let him do anything you don’t like. If he gets fresh, you kick him in the head, got it?”

     Her eyes blew wide, fear coursing through her once more.

     “W-Who—”

     “Dennis, he’s gonna help you. He’s _strong,_ okay? But if you’re uncomfortable, you tell him. And if he don’t listen…”

     He passed her the driving license for the man she’d never met. His full name was listed, looked so bizarre next to the face she didn’t recognise, and she couldn’t help but whisper it out loud.

     “ _Kevin Wen—_ ”

     Barry covered her mouth, “Not now, only if Dennis tries to… only if you need to make one of us leave. _Don’t say it_ unless you _absolutely_ have to.”

     “Is… is Dennis…” she licked her lips and tried to frame her thought. “Is it because he… he doesn’t like that I’m here?”

     A slap would have forced less of a reaction from Barry.

     “No, sweetheart, he doesn’t mind that. You’re gonna be safe and we’re all gonna look out for you. This is just in case somethin’ happens that scares you, okay? We all want you here, we—you’re gonna see soon, okay?”

     “Okay.”

     Whatever happened, it wouldn’t be worse than what she’d already endured.

     “I’m gonna go now but I’ll come straight back if you want me to,” he whispered, brushing the hair from her forehead. “Be brave a lil longer, we’re almost there.”

     When Dennis arrived, his body was still staring at her. Unlike Barry, who was a wild mess of twitches and energy, he stayed perfectly still as he studied her face.

     “I’m—”

     “Almost home.”

     Casey nodded. It’s what Barry had said and what she wanted to believe.

     Dennis removed his hand from her hair with a sigh.

     “Same as before,” he said, “arm on your back and under your legs. Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.”

* * *

 

“Sorry about the clutter. The others… they thought it would…” Dennis rubbed his head. “I told them it was too much. It’s… It’s clean, all of it. It’s… Anything you don’t want, I left a bag under the bed. You don’t have to tell them. Just leave it in the bathroom and I’ll take care of it.”

     The cot was uncomfortable despite the flowery blanket. It poked at Casey’s bruises in all the wrong ways, but that wasn’t why she cried.

     “It’s too much. I’ll take care of it.”

     She looked around the sparsely decorated room. Hedwig’s drawings and paintings plastered half one wall, surrounding one of her own drawings which had been placed in a thin frame. Battery operated lights dangled from a small hanging rack filled with dark clothes—whose, she didn’t know—trailing onto a shabby writing desk. The concrete floor beside her bed was warmed by a fraying blue rug which tickled her feet whenever they brushed against them.

     “Whose room is this?” Hedwig’s, she thought, but she didn’t want to assume. “Do they mind me staying here?”

     Dennis gave her a strange look, like he were resisting the urge to feel her temperature.

     “It’s your room.”

     “Mine?”

     It didn’t make sense, and her brain couldn’t put any of the pieces together.

     “It’s… Patricia wanted to tell you. We’ve been… since we figured, we thought…”

     Dennis stiffly sat on the bed, hands in his lap and deep lines on his face.

     “We wanted you to come. We’ve been waiting, but when… the neighbourhood, it wasn’t safe for a young girl.”

     Casey stayed quiet and pulled her feet onto the bed.

     “The last job, it wasn’t… good for us anymore. Too much noise, people everywhere, pushing each other. Dirtyin’ up the store and movin’ stock everywhere. The others, they knew it was no good for us. Kevin likes animals and me and Barry, we’ve got management experience, so when the job here came up…”

     He crossed his arms across his chest.

     “It’s good here. They give us lodging too. Not here but… it’s close enough to the room and we don’t give anyone trouble. They don’t mind.”

     “You… live at the Zoo?”

     Dennis straightened his back, “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

     “No, it’s… Hedwig, he didn’t tell me.”

     “He couldn’t.”

     Casey wanted to apologise but thought better of it. Hedwig understood; she’d written him a letter, and the one Orwell wrote her said he was okay about it. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to see him, she just… there hadn’t been any way.

     “I put two washcloths in your bathroom. Use one for your body, one for your face. You can’t shower on those feet but you have to get clean before you sleep. Patricia will make you something to eat.”

     He left as abruptly as he spoke, but made sure to leave the door open just enough to let her know she could leave whenever she wanted.

* * *

 

“Is there anything you would like to know first?”

     Casey nearly choked on her sandwich. There were a lot of things she wanted to know, but the trouble was she didn’t know what half of those things were. She looked to Patricia as she gulped her water, hoping she might continue of her own volition.

     “Shall I start us off?” Patricia took one dainty sip of her tea. “Unfortunately, your uncle was not beaten to death by Dennis. He is very much alive, despite my many protestations.”

     Casey winced, the bruising on Patricia’s face much more obvious after hearing it.

     “Are you okay? Did he… your face is—”

     “Oh, this?” Patricia laughed humourlessly. “Yes, it’s our insurance. Should that… _man_ , call the authorities, they’ll never take him at his word. He hasn’t a single injury, you know.”

     “But Dennis—”

     “We prepared a little something to help you, but you exceeded all expectations and broke free of your own accord. You’re such a strong girl, I knew you wouldn’t be afraid when you saw the room.”

     Truthfully, Casey had barely thought of it. She hadn’t the emotional capacity for any additional feelings or thoughts and had simply accepted she had a bedroom in a Zoo.

     “We had arranged something more temporary at our previous address, but always knew you’d need something permanent. I spent _hours_ selecting the sheets because I knew you would be here at any moment. If I could have done things my way, we would have taken you years ago, but the others wanted to wait. I understand it had t be your choice, but there was no reason it couldn’t have been a choice more obviously shown to you.”

     The plate rumbled across the table as Casey pushed it away from her. She tried to understand what Patricia meant but had difficulty trusting her conclusions. It sounded as though they’d all prepared a room for her like they knew she would one day come running.

     Snippets of conversations and letters rustled through her mind. The telephone number Dennis gave her, the confusing letters from Orwell and Luke, the hundreds of conversations with Hedwig, the dozens with Jade and Mr Pritchard.

     Like a whisper caught in a storm, Casey asked if Patricia and the others wanted her.

     Patricia reached for her hand and squeezed it tight, “If they’d listened, precious girl, we would have abducted you and fled the state when you were still a little girl. Dennis and I both have grown more concerned over the years, but it wasn’t until recent events we realised we couldn’t put things off any longer. It was a miracle from God that you phoned when you did.”

     “Why?”

     Something about Patricia’s smile made Casey regret asking.

     “We were coming for you, little dove. People like us _must_ stick together, and after—” Patricia shook her head. “We could not, in good conscience, leave you with that animal for another moment.”

_“Let’s pretend we’re animals.”_

     Casey’s breath hitched. Patricia studied her, a knowing yet desperately sad look upon her face.

     “There, there,” she rose from her chair and ran her hand through Casey’s hair as she cried. “It’s over now. We won’t let him hurt you anymore.”


	11. Found

Casey saw the pencils, crayons, and charcoal strewn across the floor first. She couldn’t remember falling asleep or waking up, but found comfort in the evidence of Hedwig’s company. She wondered how he stayed so quiet—he was always so boisterous and loud, even when he tried not to be—and felt a surge of warmth at knowing how careful he must have been not to wake her.

     The charcoal on the floor caught her attention. The sticks were chipped, some broken, and all in varying lengths. It was incredible that he’d been allowed them at all (hadn’t he said Dennis needed things to stay clean?). Her hand reached for a piece before she knew what she was doing. It felt thick and raw between her fingers, drying her skin with its shadows.

     No one needed to know. It was her room, she could do as she liked. Charcoal would clean easily if need be. There wouldn’t be a problem if no one found out.

     She eased herself from the cot, wincing as her knees made contact with the freezing concrete. The rug moved easily, not nearly as heavy as the thick fluff of it implied, and left the floor barren and open.

     Vulnerable, in a way.

     It felt wrong, like reading a personal email intended for another set of eyes.

     The charcoal dragged thick lines against the concrete, catching on the bumps and grooves as it tried to stay straight. Six lines was all she needed, three vertical and two horizontal.

     Finished, she leaned back on her stinging heels and looked over her creation. It looked nothing like the floorboards she’d come to rely upon, but they were the closest she would get to. When she replaced the rug, she could almost pretend they were really there.

     She placed the charcoal back in its box and crawled forward, curling on the rug with her eyes closed. Finally, she was home.

* * *

 

When Casey woke, she finds a blanket spread neatly over her and a note on her cot. It took a moment for her to realise it hadn’t been a dream and her mind hadn’t imagined walking the streets as a stray and found a home. She wouldn’t hear the heavy breathing from the other side of the door or look down to find herself in shackles.

     She was okay, and more okay than she had been in years.

     The hard flooring followed her as she stood. Sleeping on the floor hadn’t been the best idea (as the throb of her head proved), but she had never slept better. No dreams had come and no experiences were revisited. Casey had slept, peacefully, without issue.

     Patricia’s cursive leapt at her from the cot. Casey smiled, almost giddy to receive a letter once more. Though she had seen so many of Hedwig’s roommates of them earlier, she had nearly given up on ever getting a letter from Patricia again.

_Casey,_

      _I hope we didn’t disturb your sleep. We tried moving you to your bed but you were determined to stay where you were. I’ve set some epson salts, a washcloth, and a bucket in your bathroom. We don’t have a bath, but epson salts will help your muscles so do try to use them if you feel stiff. We have an errand to run but will be home soon. Please help yourself to anything you need, but keep everything neat._

      _Yours, Patricia_

     A bucket bath was far from enticing, but Casey was touched by the thought Patricia had given to her. She folded the note carefully and slipped it under the rug by her bed; it wasn’t the same as the floorboards, but it made her feel better nonetheless.

     She had no idea how long Patricia would be out of the house or when she’d even left. It felt strange, having the entire underground of a Zoo to herself to explore, but the sparks of curiosity outshone any misgivings she might have had.

     Casey wanted to explore, to find out as much as she could while she had the time to process it.

     She padded out of the room— _her_ room, she mentally corrected—and navigated to where she hoped would be a kitchen. It had been too long since she’d eaten and while she hadn’t any appetite, the stars behind her eyes urged her to at least try.

      The dim lighting stretched at the walls, pulling and distorting until they seemed both straight and bent. The floor, the ceiling—neither existed, only more wall wrapping around and around until they closed in on her, threatening to collapse at her slightest offense. Cracks and scrubbed stains masqueraded as shadows and urged her to silent her step, lest the sound of her movements give them more power.

     Yet, she did not feel the familiar stab of dread. Her trespass was welcomed by the eerie surroundings. She was under its protection, recognised as being one in the same, and felt the safety Barry had promised in the closed lockers lined neatly against the wall.

     “Hey!”

     Casey froze, hair and hackles raised.

     “What are you doing?!”

     An echo of a man she didn’t know. Someone who wasn’t Hedwig or Dennis or Orwell or anyone she knew.

     Had the police come for her? Had John?

     Would they drag her back? Cage her? Leave her to rot while John promised it hurt him more than she could ever understand?

     “Give me a break, would ya?”

     Another voice. Another echo.

     Two.

     Two strangers. Two men.

     They were coming for her.

     Silence forgotten, Casey’s body felt clumsy and loud as she ran back to her room. Her bare toes scrapped at the cement, bruising and busting, the cuts on her feet open and leaving a trail behind her.

     She couldn’t go back. She wouldn’t go back. She wouldn’t. They couldn’t make her.

     No, no, no, no, no.

     “How many breaks do you need to inhale before you—?”

     She slammed the door closed behind her and fumbled for a lock. There was none, not inside or out, and the realisation of how unprotected she truly was turned her pants to desperate cries.

     She searched the room and found the desk. It moved easily under her panicked hands, too light to stop anyone determined, but she barricaded the door with it regardless.

     They couldn’t send her back to John. She couldn’t go back. He’d kill her again and again and again and—

     Casey crawled under the cot and pressed herself against the wall. Sobs wracked her body, leaked through the hands she used to stifle herself. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t be still or find an escape.

     When the echoes stop, her nails find the wall. She scratches like the animal she is, some part of her so desperate to burrow further to safety it convinces her to at least try.

* * *

 

“—emme in!”

     The thud of a body against the door startled Casey. She’d missed the words, couldn’t understand the voice, and cowered further against the wall.

      **Thud.**

            **Thud.**

                  **Thud.**

                        **Thud.**

     Had she fallen asleep or had she retreated into her mind?

     She shouldn’t have cornered herself. There was no escape. Why hadn’t she paid attention? She knew better than that.

     The thudding ceased. She didn’t know when and cursed herself for letting her guard down once again. She knew better. She knew better. She knew—

     The desk groaned against the floor as the door moved open. Casey held her breath, knew it was useless to try and hide but couldn’t stop herself from trying. If she played dead, the predator might leave. It might give up on her once it saw her pathetic, wasted body curled still under the cot like a child.

     Heavy footsteps reverberated throughout the room. Boots, she realised—John was wearing his boots.

     “He—no… not now… not—”

     Something slammed against her, wriggling itself under the bed. A muffled yell, hers or her attackers, leaked out. Arms, clumsy and thick, wrapped around her as a wet face pressed against the nape of her neck.

     “It’s okay, Casey,” Hedwig mumbled. “I’m gonna protect us. Et thetra.”

     Her body relaxed instantly as she rolled awkwardly to face him. She didn’t look at his face, didn’t want to see whatever emotion she’d forced on him plastered there, only gripped him tightly as she sobbed into his chest.

     “Miss Patricia said no one’s gonna make fun of us anymore,” Hedwig cooed. “We’re gonna get really strong, _really_ strong like _hnnnn!_ ”

     His rocked against her and pet her back, mimicking how the others comforted him whenever he was bullied or hurt.

     “It’s gonna be okay, Casey. He’s gonna look after us. Miss Patricia said so.”

     She nodded, knowing whoever “He” was didn’t matter. It was a story Patricia told to give him comfort, which Hedwig now used to comfort her. It helped and, piece by piece, Hedwig pulled her together once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)


	12. Spoilers

Hedwig’s breathing had evened out much earlier, leaving him clutched around her like the child he was. A small smile rest on his face, kind and easy, and Casey couldn’t help but return it. He was so different to the others, not only in personality but in how he held himself. There was a warmth which radiated from his bones, easing every fear she knew she had (and some she didn’t).

     It was his innocence. How he didn’t let the stares and jeers change him. Some may have felt pity for Hedwig’s immortal youth, but she found a wondrous beauty in it. Never would he fall victim to the pressures of the adult world. Never would he adapt in ways that broke him. He had been trapped in a moment of curious imagination, one which Casey found she mourned for herself.

     His dreams moved through his body, flexing his legs as he curled deeper into her. Casey held him tight, whispering with her touch that it was safe for him to sleep. The arm around her waist stretched, fingers pushing until they splayed beneath her hoodie.

     She froze.

     It was only Hedwig and he wasn’t even conscious. It didn’t mean anything, there was no implication, yet her heart thrummed in her chest like a bee caught beneath a glass.

     Fingertips moved along the edge of her jeans to her hip, then higher to her waist. They stopped there, poised and threatening, then plunged into her sides with all the delicacy of a bull.

     “Hedw-!” Casey’s yelp cut off when her head hit the cot.

     The fingers became more aggressive, pushing into her side as her body became more sensitive and her yelps became laughter. She shoved at the body against her—not Hedwig, she realised—and it rolled back without protest.

     “Well g’mornin’ to you too, lil lady.”

     Casey’s chest heaved, unsteady with the flood of mixed feelings. Had they felt her secrets? Did whoever it was know what they’d nearly uncovered?

     “Aw c’mon, I couldn’t resist. You’re just so sweet huggin’ Heggie like that, I couldn’t let you think I was pretendin’ to be him or somethin’. I had to get your attention.”

     “By—by—”

     “Ticklin’,” Luke finished. “I didn’t mean to scare you, just thought you might need a bit of fun. I’ve been hearin’ all sorts about the situation.”

     With a sheepish smile, Luke rolled out from under the cot to give her as much room as she needed. Casey appreciated it, used it to reclaim the ground she’d lost when her pulse got away from her, and followed him out. They both sat on the ground there, legs crossed as they watched each other.

     “Luke,” Luke said.

     Casey nodded.

     “They never let me have the Light. Woulda come to chat years ago if I could, but I had to wait for everyone to sleep. They say I talk too much, and that ain’t a good thing when you’re tryin’ to stay under the radar. But I’m no worse than they are, I just dont talk about women’s clothin’ or nothin’ like that. Any idea why we were under the bed?”

     “I… heard voices,” Casey replied. It felt ridiculous to say out loud, like she were nothing more than a panicked child afraid of the dark. “I thought…”

     “Were you down that way?” Luke pointed an arm in three directions. “You’re gonna hear some of the em-ploy-ees if you go down there. They’re not gonna rat you out to your uncle or nothin’, though, so you don’t needta hide.”

     Casey stiffened, which Luke noticed immediately.

     “Aw damn, they told me I’m not allowed to talk about it. But I’m not like Dennis, y’know, I’m not gonna be…” his face screwed in disgust. “‘Sides, Barry and Kevin put us on the waitlist to see the Good Doctor years ago. Good timin’ that we were called in when we were. We’re gettin’ all kinds of help now. She didn’t mad at us for readin’ that letter your uncle sent either. She told Barry it wasn’t his fault, on account of Kevin’s mother.”

     He stopped again to watch her face. He didn’t like whatever he saw and put a hand on Casey’s shoulder.

     “We know ya didn’t write it. Wasn’t your handwritin’ to begin with, and you’d never ask us to do that stuff to you. We don’t judge you at all for it, so don’t let that idea bounce around.”

     The world spun as Casey tried to understand what Luke was saying. She didn’t know about a letter, not one that John had anything to do with. Luke must have realised it because he leaned back, hand rubbing his face as he shook his head.

     “Patricia told me I wasn’t meant to tell you that.”

     “Show me.”

     Luke shook his head again, “Patricia’s got it locked up in case we need it.”

     “For what?” Casey spat. “It’s about me, I need to—”

     “In case he comes back,” Luke said. “It’s gonna keep you safe, for a bit. Just… you don’t wanna read it.”

     “I do.”

     “Girlie, you don’t. It wasn’t… you don’t needta read anythin’ like that. You’re a lady.”

     She knew she wouldn’t get anymore answers about the letter and reluctantly let it go. There was no use in beating a dead horse, especially when Luke was all too chatty and willing to share more than the others seemed to.

     “Did he… hit Dennis?”

     She knew the answer already but hoped to get more information.

     “Yeah, dunno how he didn’t lose it. Shoulda seen how mad he got when Hedwig opened the letter, had to steal the Light off him and make him cry. Good thing though, the kid wouldn’t’ve understood and none of us wanna give him The Talk yet. He got hit four, five times before he used the—” Luke mimed a spray, “—and he went down like’a sack of shit. You hungry? Let’s get somethin’ to eat.”

     Luke led her to the kitchen, which was far from where she’d ventured earlier. He talked the entire way, occasionally looking over his shoulder with a sly grin at something he’d said, but hadn’t pressed Casey to respond. He had the same natural ease Barry held, with his movements lax yet calculated. A man in control of himself, aware of his capabilities and physicality.

     That awareness did not stretch to his mouth.

     “So you don’t needta worry your head about it. We’re all gonna make sure Dennis behaves and we’re tryin’ to get him to talk to the Doc, too. She says it’s one of those—” he pulled his hand away from the sandwich he’d been buttering to mime a gun at her, “—triggers. Nothin’ but hard work gon’ get us past it, but Patricia keeps on about how ‘ _deviant_ ’ it is. Lemme tell you, hon, that woman talks a bit much about it to hate it. Not that she’d go ahead and do nothin’, she’s been too wrapped up in scarin’ Heggie with the B—”

     He stopped mid-sentence as the butterknife clanged on the plate. Casey had seen them change before and had even become used to it, but the transitions were usually faster and smoother. Some had been equally as abrupt, but none as drawn out.

     “Luke?”

     Instantly, Casey regretted speaking. Luke made no reaction, yet it felt as though she had interrupted something important. Disquiet thickened the air, a storm of tension brewing. Something felt wrong—she shouldn’t be seeing it, shouldn’t be there, should move, get out before she ruined whatever they all had together—but then the taut energy of the room snapped.

     “Soooorry Casey, Miss Patricia says Luke isn’t meant to talk about that.”

     “Hedwig?”

     “Luke always ruins surprises,” Hedwig turned to face her with a put upon sigh. “Where are you goin’? Do you wanna eat some hotdogs? I bet I can eat more than you.”

* * *

 

The next week is spent entirely underground. Barry still goes to work, switching with Dennis and B.T throughout the day, but visits her as often as he can sneak away. She’s thankful for both his visits and disappearances, as well as the stories he tells her about the animals he’s seen throughout the workday.

     She keeps the radio on the entire time, only half listening for any report of her being missing. Orwell had explained that while they were certain John wouldn’t come after her—yet, though he left that unspoken—it was better to keep an ear on things regardless. Men and monsters both could be unpredictable and none of them wanted to be caught off-guard.

     Whatever plan Patricia had developed was kept from carefully away from Casey. It had something to do with the letter John had sent to them impersonating her, but that was all she knew. The contents of the letter were still a mystery. None of the others had acknowledged its existence, and no amount of hurried searching helped her to find it.

     Not knowing what had been written was worse than knowing it had sexual overtones. Casey had long grown used to her bodily autonomy being taken from he and there was little John could have written that would surprise her. That he’d presumably addressed it to Hedwig wounded her most, but there was also the fear the letter had made them think less of he.

     Dennis had been affected. That’s what Luke had said. Casey had no idea how, her guilt clouding her mind too much for her to think on it, but knew it was enough for the others to need therapy. Which meant another person knew and it wasn’t even someone Casey knew the name of.

     Would they think less of her as well? Or try to send her home?

     It didn’t bear thinking about.

     Restless, Casey gave up on her new search for the letter. Barry would be back for lunch soon, and she wanted to him to have something more substantial than a sandwich waiting for him.

* * *

 

A week and a half in, Casey still hadn’t head from John.

     It wasn’t that she wanted to hear from him; it’s a reprieve she so sorely needed.

     She hadn’t thought he would give up on her— _no_ , she corrects, _give her up_ —so easily. Had he really never cared about her, even in his own twisted way? Or was he waiting for something? Was there another plan she didn’t know about?

     The bruises had mostly faded, her skin still stitching itself tenuously back together.

     She hoped he’d given up on her, but wouldn’t hold her breath.

* * *

 

“I was waiting to turn eighteen, but sometimes you can leave home at seventeen.”

     Barry looked up from the magazine, half a spoonful of soup dangling over the bowl in front of him. They hadn’t been talking about anything, let alone something as serious as Casey’s situation, and looked like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t be.

     “Have I been here the whole time?” Barry laughed, but it was forced and uncomfortable.

     Casey lowered herself into a chair across from him. “What do I do when he comes for me?”

     “He’s not—”

     “You don’t know that,” she insisted. “You don’t know _him._ ”

     “I don’t.”

     Barry placed the spoon in his bowl and pushed it away from him slowly, as if to buy more time before continuing. His eyes barely caught Casey’s before they flickered off to chase words along the kitchen ceiling.

     “I want you to know, you’re not… causing trouble here. We _all_ want you here. We _all_ love you.”

     A _but_ was coming. Casey steeled herself, unprepared to hear whatever Barry struggled to tell her.

     “We—no, I. _I_ have…” his hands grasped at the air around him, “I want you to happy, Casey.”

     There was no nickname or any of the usual sugary sweetness. Casey shifted, wincing, uncomfortable to have brought out such a serious side of him; to have forced him to abandon his nature so she wouldn’t misinterpret his words. Barry sighed.

     “You’re still sixteen and, Babygirl, that’s so young. You have your whole life in front of you. You should want more than—than this,” he motioned to the room around them. “Kevin, he’s what, nine years older than you? And I know, we’re all different ages but the body— _this_ —body, it’s the same whether I’m in it or Hedwig is or Jade is.”

     “I don’t care about that,” Casey whispered. “I love all of you.”

     “And we’ve taken advantage of that love.”

     “Is… Is this because of…” she looked at Barry, hoped he would follow along so she wouldn’t have to say it, but was ultimately disappointed, “...because I hurt Dennis? With the letter? I—I haven’t read it, but it wasn’t—”

     “No. No, you didn’t—we know that wasn’t you. You wouldn’t have—sweetheart, we know it wasn’t you.”

     “I don’t know what it said,” she continued. “I didn’t mean to… this is his home, as much as yours, and if he ha—”

     “He doesn’t,” Barry rubbed his eyes with both hands, “that’s the problem.”

     “Then what _is_ the problem? What can I do? I can do more than make you lunch. I’m not a kid—”

     “Honey, you _are_ a kid. You’re still _growing_ , still _learning._ You’ve been through so much, God knows I understand you lost your childhood, but there’s still so much for you to _do._ ”

     “I’m not going to wait for you to be arrested. I haven’t even been to school in over a month, and—”

     “Patricia spoke to your school. You’re going back next wee—”

     “Next week?” Casey scoffed. “When were you going to tell me? When were _any_ of you going to tell me?”

     “I know you’re—”

     “No, you don’t. You _don’t_ know.”

     The chair crashed to the floor behind her as she stood up. Her chest heaved, eyes burning with the urge to cry. She wouldn’t do this, even if it was better than what she’d left. She wouldn’t be left in the dark or treated like she was too fragile to understand or make her own decisions.

     “I—I waited for letters, and they didn’t come. I waited in a phone box, and you and Dennis didn’t come.”

     Barry’s forehead twitched, eyes growing dark. Casey ignored it.

     “No one came for me. _No one._ I’m the one—I’m always the one to get out, to find a way even if there isn’t a way there. It was me, Barry, it was me before I met you and it’s me now. I’m—you can’t—”

     Barry’s shoulders rose, his neck tense and thick. His lips rolled in and lost their pout as his entire facade pulled downward.

     Dennis crossed his arms and looked at her expectantly.

     “Keep going,” he barked.

     Did he think she wouldn’t? That her righteous anger would subside at the very sight of him? His smug expression infuriated her. He knew she wouldn’t yell at him; unlike Barry, he had never spent enough time with her for Casey to know he wouldn’t hurt her.

     “You promised you would find me,” she whispered. “You lied.”

     Dennis’ face fell blank, any hint of emotion scurrying into his pores and away from sight.

     Casey left the room before he could respond.


	13. Trust

Casey stayed in her room. She showered twice and tried to preserve the colour of her fading bruises on her hips with the ball of her palm. It was evidence of what had happened to her she could present to anyone who tried to tear her away from those she loved most.

     It was the evidence she hadn’t made it all up in her own head, somehow tricking Hedwig, Barry, and all the others into taking her in.

“ _You promised you would find me. You lied._ ”

     She washed her face again, humiliated by the anger she held for the cards dealt to her by life. Barry had been right about how young she was. She hadn’t believed it before, but her reaction to him and Dennis—two men who had done so much for her without asking for anything in return—proved it.

     As she stopped the shower, she stayed leaning against the wall and let the water run over her skin.

     Casey would fix what she’d broken.

     She would do everything she could.

* * *

 

Dennis had left when Casey stormed off and it was Barry who returned after their shift. He moved cautiously through the halls, his footsteps were just loud enough to be heard. It wasn’t right to hear such monotonous steps, such a lack of rhythm in movement. She knew it was her fault and, without giving it a second thought, fled her room in search of him.

     Casey found him in their dressing room as he hung his coat. He looked surprised to see her, his eyes wide with a rust red outline.

     “Casey—”

     Any residual anger, any thought of embarrassment or perceived strength she had in that moment evaporated as soon as she heard him. A wall she hadn’t know existed broke inside her, crumbling her resolve as she flew to him with outstretched arms. He barely caught her, stumbling back two steps as he pressed his nose into her hair.

     “I’m sorry,” her voice cracked, the pieces filling any hole she may have drilled into his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

     “Shhh, oh, babygirl, shhh,” he replied, his arms tightening as he pulled her closer. “It’s gonna be fine, no harm done.”

     She didn’t believe it but kept it to herself, unwilling to argue with Barry anymore.

     “I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have said… after everything, I—”

     “Hey now, you stop that. Hey, look at me, come on,” he pried off far enough to cup her face, “What did I tell you about being sorry when you’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for?”

     Casey looked at him, unable to for anything close to a coherent sentence.

     “We _should_ be talkin’ to you more. You’re right about that, but there’re some things we can’t tell you yet. We just wanna make sure you’re safe. Just because you _can_ handle yourself, doesn’t mean you should _have_ to.”

     She nodded in his hands with a sniff.

     “We’ve been talkin’ all day since, y’know. Dennis and me, with the others. I _know,_ I _know,_ ” he chuckled under his breath in disbelief, “but we agreed. You’ve gotta know more, it’s doing you no good to be hiding away like this waiting for someone else to tell you what to do. You _did_ save yourself—”

     “But you and Den—”

     “We were going to come for you but we didn’t come soon enough. Don’t look at me like that, even if the house was on fire one of us shoulda let you know how long we’d be or something.”

     “But it wasn’t your fault,” Casey replied. “If it wasn’t for my uncle—”

     “It’s his fault, honey. Not yours, not mine, not even Dennis’—if only Kevin were listening now, he’d think I’d hit my head. Point is, we’re gonna be more open with you from now on. Okay?”

     Casey nodded, then pushed her way back into his arms, “Can I talk to Dennis? I want to apologise.”

     The hand Barry had been rubbing against her back paused, but picked up when he answered.

     “He knows, honey, but you can tell him later.”

* * *

 

Dennis doesn’t come to the Light when Casey is nearby. He had always avoided her, but it seemed different since she’d snapped at him. Before, she would hear him speaking to Patricia or Hedwig when they had the Light. Now, he was more careful.

     “I can’t do your lips if you’re frowning,” Jade sang.

     Casey frowned harder.

     “It’s like you don’t even _like_ red lipstick.”

     “I told you I didn’t.”

     “I told _you_ you’d _love_ it,” Jade leaned forward to inspect her work. “How d’you like that? Already perfect. Kiss the tissue then have a look.”

     Casey did as she was told, and barely repressed her reaction. It wasn’t bad—Jade was actually quite talented, and everything looked incredible—but it was… a lot.

     “I know what you’re thinking, and you need to _not._ You’re allowed to be bright sometimes and get some attention.”

     “It’s not that it’s bad or I don’t like it…”

     Jade leaned back and crossed her arms.

     “It just… It doesn’t really suit what I’m wearing.”

     “That’s because it isn’t a look from the 90s,” Jade replied. “One of these days we’re getting dressed up and _going out._ Kat and I are making a plan.”

     “To go out?” Casey asked, confused about why they couldn’t leave the house.

     “ _Out_ out,” Jade elaborated. “We’ll go to a club. I know a place that’ll let you in, but the dinosaurs won’t let us if they know. But Kat and I have a plan so it’s going to happen whether they like it or not.”

     “Can’t they… hear you? What if they try to stop you?”

     “They’re all in the back talking about something, none of them can hear us.”

     Casey nodded and looked back to her reflection. The more she stared, the more used to it she became. She imagined herself in a black dress with her hair up. Maybe, just once, it would be nice to go out like that.

     “So…” Jade mumbled around the lipstick she was now applying to herself, “I heard about you and the boys.”

     “Oh… I—”

     “I’m _totally_ on your side. They get so wrapped up in themselves, thinking they know everything and they’re the only ones who can protect Kevin,” she made eye contact with Casey in the mirror, “or you. They just don’t get it. You’ve _got_ to know what’s happening.”

     “So you… Do you know? About—”

     “The letter?” Jade scoffed and fell back into her chair. “Fucking disgusting. I’d show you if I knew where it was, but they hid it when I was sleeping. I bet they waited because we’re such good friends.”

     She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

     “They made such a big deal out of it like you weren’t still trapped with that psycho and knew everything already. If someone did that to me, I’d wanna blow my brains out.”

     Casey shifted, nervous and unsure. She wanted to know what the letter said, but didn’t want to get Jade in trouble or upset anyone. Still, it was her uncle who had spat poison over everyone; it as her responsibility to know what that poison was.

     “Can you tell me? What it said?”

     “Basically, that you wanted to ride his face and suck him off,” Jade’s nonchalance was broken by a wince, “It said a lot, but that’s basically it. A lot of screwing.”

     “Oh.”

     Casey relaxed. It wasn’t that she liked what was said, but that it was apparently written in a way that sounded nothing like her.

     “The way he said it squicked me,” Jade continued. “Saying you’d pretend to be animals like you’re a dog or something. Fucking pervert. Even Dennis looked grossed out by it and I’m pretty sure he was enjoying the letter before that. Not because it’s you, but, you know… _sex._ Then he said to meet him in this shitty motel you’d _never_ go to, and—oh shit, are you crying?”

     “No,” Casey lied.

     Jade saw through the ruse and kneeled in front of her. “You’re lying, girl.”

     “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

     “Case, did he… did he ever say that to you? The bullshit about being animals? I don’t wanna—Patricia said it was, but she never asked, so—”

     “I ruined your makeup.”

     She couldn’t talk about it.

     Talking about it made it real.

     “Can you fix it for me?”

     Jade sighed, pushed back, and picked out a wet-wipe. She made no apology for asking, just as Casey hadn’t for changing the subject. There had been too many of those for either of them to bear already.

     “Did you ever think about killing him?” Jade finally said. “In his sleep or something?”

     Casey blinked. Jade ran the wipe over her forehead.

     “No.”

     “They can’t hear us,” Jade whispered. “I won’t tell the others.”

     They made eye contact, a shared thought moving between them.

     “Yes. But I choked when I was a kid. I couldn’t shoot him.”

     Jade nodded in understanding, “And now?”

     The wooden armrests bit into Casey’s skin as she tried to move deeper into the chair. She didn’t want to admit it now, or ever, but her lack of a reply was all the answer Jade needed.

     “We should do it. Wait till he’s asleep and just… shove a pillow on his face or something.”

     “He’s too strong.”

     “But killing him is fine?”

     The wet-wipe wiped the lipstick off, stealing any response she couldn’t give.

     “It’ll be our secret,” Jade reassures her. “Like going to the club will be.”

* * *

 

John is the only one with Casey’s number, so she knew it was him calling as soon as she heard the ring. Answering it was stupid, she knew that, but years of conditioning made it impossible to ignore.

     She accepted the call but didn’t speak, simply waited for whatever he had decided to tell her.

     “ _Are you listening?_ ”

     “Yes.”

     “ _Good,_ ” John snapped. “ _I’ve told your school you’re in a boarding house for troubled teenagers drying out._ ”

     Casey sat on her cot, thought better of it, and moved to the floor.

     “ _If anyone asks, that’s where you’ve been. You had a problem drinking and got mixed up with that older guy. They’re going to believe it, so don’t try to lie to them._ ”

     “Okay.”

     Her voice didn’t shake and for that she was proud. A cool chill had bloomed inside her chest, sending spurs flying under her skin to prickle her until she shook. Every breath was a momentous effort of will, and her temples throbbed with the focus it took not to start screaming.

     “ _He doesn’t love you. You know that, right? He’s just going to fuck a baby into you and dump you in the gutter. Is that the life you want, Casey? You’re just going to end up back here eventually. You should come home now before you let him do that to you. It’d break your daddy’s heart to see you living with another man._ ”

     Her composure shattered at the mention of her father. She’d learned to make as little sound as possible over the years, but John recognised her mournful gasp regardless.

     “ _If you were a good girl I wouldn’t need to say those things. You know I love you, Casey-bear. No one is gonna love you like I do. Come home and apologise, and I’ll forgive you. He’s never gonna love you, ba—_ ”

     The phone ricocheted from the wall to the floor, but Casey couldn’t understand how it happened. Her outstretched arm pointed to her having thrown it herself, but she can barely believe it.

     She can hear John still, calling her name then all the other names he likes to call her, and it lights a fire inside her. Every agony she had suffered, every depressing moment, every lie and every mockery burst from her in a tsunami of violence.

     She tore her clothes from the rack and threw them in every direction.

     Slammed the rolling hanger they’d been attached to against the opposite wall.

     Flipped her cot over. Smashed her half-empty glass of water against the door.

     She destroyed, screaming and growling until her arms were too weak to throw anything more. The only things left untouched in her rampage were the pictures Hedwig had drawn for her—precious gifts she would always cherish—and the treasures she still kept inside her bag.

     Chest heaving, she approached a new drawing and walked over to inspect it. Hedwig had drawn a monster, something huge with red eyes and a black body, holding the hands of a boy and a girl. Only the names of the stick figures were written beneath them, and Casey couldn’t help but smile at her own.

     Patricia had whispered the same stories to her when she’d awoken screaming. Told her a man with the same abilities as the toughest animals would save them all from any monster in her past. She knew it was only a story, but it had given her the strength she needed to sleep without fear once more.

     Calmer than she had been, Casey appraised the damage she’d done again. With nothing else left to throw or break and her helpless anger residing, she started to clean.


	14. Captivity

It felt surreal to be at school again. Casey had long grown used to the lives of her classmates continuing whilst hers had stopped still, but too much had happened during her absence for her to be completely settled with it. They each had their own separate lives, ones with pain she was unaware of or accomplishments she’d never reach, but it was strange that none of them knew.

     Her uncle had always hurt her so maybe they were used to the sullen fog she draped around herself, but how could none of them see her new relief? She now lived in a fairytale, with princes and princesses and a queen, yet no one seemed aware of how thankful she was.

     Except for one.

     Ms Reynolds had called her out of history some weeks into her return to school. There was no reason for her to have asked for a meeting—Casey hadn’t been disruptive in the least—but she wanted to discuss “things.” Something about the meeting made her nervous, like Hedwig and the others had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar and Casey’s testimony would be all that was needed to put them away. As she steeled herself for the discussion, Casey promised herself she would do everything in her power to make sure nothing happened to them.

      “I’m sorry it took so long to meet with you,” Ms Reynolds said, fidgeting with the papers on the desk in her shared office. “We’ve been stretched thin. But I really wanted to catch up with you.”

     “It’s okay.”

     “You were gone for…” Ms Reynolds scanned the page, “nearly two months. Your cousin was ill, and… we have it written here that there was, uh, you went to St Margarets after you came home? Are you still there?”

     Casey nodded. John hadn’t told her the name of the place, but he’d threatened her with it enough over the years.

     “Is everything okay? You’ve been less… outspoken, and you haven’t been in detention since you came back.”

     “I…” Casey paused, unsure of what she  _ could  _ say, “have had things put in perspective. I want to focus on my education.”

     Ms Reynolds dropped the papers and levelled Casey with an odd look.

     “I called St Margaret’s to check on you and see if you needed anything.”

     The oxygen was ripped from Casey’s lungs.

     “They said you aren’t there,” Ms Reynold’s leaned forward carefully. “Casey, if there’s anything—”

     “My Uncle is embarrassed about our financial situation,” Casey interrupted. “He’s scared I’m going to be taken into foster care if anyone finds out he can’t afford to… to help me properly. I’ve been staying with a family friend who specialises in the same… treatments. We didn’t know if it was allowed so he said I was at St Margaret’s.”

     Nothing about Ms Reynolds’ face spoke to her belief of Casey’s explanation.

     “Casey, are you in trouble? Do you need help?”

     Casey shook her head and fought the urge to wipe her eyes. She wasn’t crying, not yet, and she had to be strong. No matter how well-meaning Ms Reynolds was, she couldn’t stand against John. Only Dennis had walked away victorious, but even he hadn’t indulged in any friendship with Casey afterwards. People who knew, who saw what John would do to her and to them, were disgusted by her. She couldn’t bear to have another person avoid her, even if she only knew Ms Reynolds in passing.

     Ms Reynolds sighed and leaned back, “If there’s anything I can do, I want you to call me,” she scribbled a telephone number on a card and pushed it forward across the desk, “day or night. It would make me feel better to know you have it and never need it than the other way around.”

     The messy handwriting was more comfortable than the neatly printed card. Casey picked it up, ran her thumb over the freshly scribbled number, and placed it in her wallet.

     “I’m not going to force you to talk to me before you’re ready,” Ms Reynolds continued, “it wouldn’t help. But, I want you to know that no matter what you have to say, I believe you. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

     “Why?”

     She didn’t mean to say it. It didn’t settle in with her lies of feeling fine, but the genuine care in Ms Reynolds’ gaze pulled it out of her.

     Ms Reynolds smiled, but it didn’t look happy.

     “Because nothing that might have happened to you was your fault, and I think you know that.”

     With a stiff nod, Casey hurried out of her seat. She’d almost made it out the door when Ms Reynolds stopped her with the rustling of papers and the call of her name.

     “Let Patricia know we’ve had this talk, if you’re comfortable. If she’s acting as your guardian she will want to know.”

     Casey nodded but didn’t turn around. She knew Patricia had phoned the school, but had no idea of the depths of it.

     “ _ If  _ you’re comfortable. Whatever we talk about here stays here, okay?”

     “Okay.”

     Casey left before her knees gave out.

* * *

 

Casey told Patricia as soon as she arrived home. Patricia listened, an odd smile on her lips, and embraced Casey as she finally fell apart.

     “Oh, little dove, you don’t need to worry,” Patricia cooed, “no one could ever talk you from us.”

     There’s something behind the promise Casey recognised, but she ignored it in favour of burrowing deeper into Patricia’s arms. Whatever it was didn’t matter. All that mattered was the mother she’d never had holding her until she felt strong again.

* * *

 

Casey’s birthday arrived before she was ready for it. A note on the kitchen table in the morning from Barry apologised in eight different ways that they weren’t there to send her off to school—something urgent had come up—and she realised none of them knew Hedwig had jumped on her bed at exactly 12:01 to be the first to congratulate her.

     The string he’d looped into a bracelet gave her infinite strength to face anything that came her way, urged her to eat breakfast and look after herself in ways she usually forgot. Her teachers had been wary ever since she’d returned to school but had settled as the months went by. No one questioned why she smiled anymore or pulled her aside to question her homelife. Things were normal, or as normal as they could be. She’d even received an invite to a birthday party from a girl in her art class who knew her name.

     Her past still ran beside her, an ever-present shadow trying in vain to catch up, but it was easier to ignore with every passing day. Casey was healing, learning who she was and that she deserved to  _ live _ instead of exist. When her phone chimed with a new message, she felt no fear in checking it.

**[Be good, Casey Bear.]**

     John hadn’t remembered her birthday since she was a child, but as soon as she read the words splintered by the cracks of her phone screen, she knew he had just never cared.

     She did not cry or scream, didn’t wail or collapse or give him the reaction he hoped for. She tucked the phone in her pocket, excused herself from class, and went to the nurse. The nausea and lightheadedness she reported weren’t a lie, and she gratefully accepted their offer to send her home for the day.

     Despite the text, the illness, the  _ everything  _ that crashed around her, Casey smiled.

     She wasn’t afraid to go home because she finally had one.

* * *

 

She didn’t see anyone until long after the Zoo closed. It was unusual, but she relished the time alone in the living room as she collected her thoughts. How strange it was to feel safety outside of her room, to be so unafraid of being out in the open. It was a novelty she would never tire of and luxuriated in as often as possible.

     Unfamiliar steps echoed from the hallway and caught her attention. It wasn’t Barry or Jade who stopped inside the door to watch her, and for a moment, she wondered what might happen if one of the other workers caught her down there. She burrowed further into the couch and her blanket, just in case.

     “Happy birthday.”

     “Dennis?” She turned then, watched the shallow creases along his forehead deepen, and tried to smile. “Thanks.”

     He made a noise, something close to a grunt, and crossed his arms over his chest.

     “Thank you. For takin’ your shoes off.”

     She looked at the floor where she’d kicked off her shoes.

     “Put them back on. You’re… I have to… you need to come with me.”

     “Is… did something happen?”

     “You’re seventeen,” Dennis replied, as if that answered all her questions.

     Somehow, Casey knew she wouldn’t get anymore answers. She unravelled herself from her blanket, slipped on her shoes, and followed him out of the room.

* * *

 

“Where are we?”

     Dennis looked at her from the corner of his eye, “Philadelphia Zoo.”

     Was that a joke? Nothing on his face suggested it was but Casey couldn’t help her slight huff regardless.

     “Where are we going?”

     “Philadelphia Zoo.”

     “Are you making fun of me?”

     Dennis exhaled rough and hard; a breathy chuckle.

     “Where are you taking me  _ in  _ the Zoo?”

     “Here.” He stopped walking to unlock a cage and led her inside, “We’re closer but they can’t get us. Stay close if you’re afraid.”

     “Afraid of what?”

     A roar punctured the atmosphere. Casey jumped, fell back and landed against Dennis’ chest, but was righted by the strong hands on her shoulders.

     “They won’t hurt you,” Dennis explained, though she didn’t understand why he held so much faith in tigers. “They’ve finished eating.”

     “What… are they doing?”

     “Living.”

     Two tigers rolled in front of them, lazily swatting at each other as they growled and bickered. Casey remembered seeing a fluff piece on the news about their arrival, how they’d been born across the country and brought in over a year ago. Her heart ached for them, empathising with how they’d been torn from all they knew and sent somewhere different.

     “Do you think they’re happy?”

     “Yes,” Dennis replied. His hands were still on her shoulders, steadying her in ways he probably didn’t realise.

     “Why?”

     “They’re together,” he replied quietly. “They understand each other.”

     They didn’t speak again. Just watched as the tigers tire themselves with the play fighting, before laying together to lick each others wounds.

* * *

 

Dennis walked Casey to her room in silence. He kept a two-feet gap between them the entire way, as though he were afraid he might catch something if he got too close. The others were always touching her in some way—Hedwig climbed all over her, Mr Pritchard held her hand if she were afraid of a film, Orwell bumped his shoulder against hers, Patricia played with her hair, Jade forever poked and brushed at her, B.T. leaned over her like furniture, Kat forced her to ballroom dance while Heinrich forced her to swing, and Luke was, well, Luke—so Dennis’ fear of it was as loud as church bells.

     Maybe it was because they’d never talked after their argument. He had avoided her and, despite what Barry had said, she knew Dennis must have felt some resentment. His expression held no proof of it, but how else could she explain the distance and his avoidance?

     “Barry, Jade and the boy want to take you out. To dinner,” he finally said once they’d reached her bedroom door. “They’ll be ready in thirty minutes.”

     “You aren’t coming?”

     He looked at her with a strange expression, “I don’t have a choice.”

     Oh, right, of course he didn’t. Her neck grew hot with the stupidity of her question, but there was something soft about the way he watched her.

     “You see us as different people.”

     “Aren’t you?” Casey replied, too quick to be casual.

     “We aren’t… used to it,” he continued. “People seeing that.”

     “Is that…” they’d had a nice night and Casey knew she shouldn’t push or pry, but he was still standing so far away from her and he  _ never  _ talked to her. “Is that why you don’t like me being here?”

     His eyes widen at the edges and he took a step backwards.

     “Are you afraid of me?” he countered.

     Casey shifted, caught off guard.

     “I don’t know.”

     Dennis took a half step forward, “You’re honest.”

     “You’d know that if—” she cut herself off, unsure as to why she was suddenly overwhelmed with the childish urge to pout. “I’m sorry. For before, in the kitchen, and… tonight. I shouldn’t have asked.”

     “You think I don’t like you,” Dennis replied. “You told Barry.”

     Casey didn’t know how to reply so she kept her eyes on the floor.

     “Why would it matter?”

     “Hedwig likes you a lot. I trust him and…”

     Dennis sighed, “The boy is an excellent judge of character.”

     Casey nodded.

     “And Hedwig likes you.”

     Casey nodded again, realised there was something in Dennis’ voice, and looked up in time to watch him rub a hand over his head.

     “And I like the boy.”

     His eyes are as hard as crystal. They pierce her own, shattering any defence she held between him and her soul. She couldn’t move away, couldn’t blink as he studied her.

     “That’s the problem,” he finally said, breaking their gaze.

     Casey leaned against the doorway, her knees too weak to stand without support.

     “Thirty minutes.”

     With that, Dennis was gone.


	15. Relapse

Barry tore through the house in a hurricane of despair and humiliation. The workday hadn’t finished and Casey hadn’t expected him, but he gave no answers when she questioned him.

     “I’ve gotta see Dr Fletcher,” he said as he pulled on his coat. “It’s… I’ll be back soon.”

     “Did something happen? Are you—”

     “I’m okay, babygirl, don’t worry your pretty head,” he pressed a firm kiss to her forehead and brushed the hair from her eyes. “It’s busy out there, lots of schools visiting. If you don’t wanna get caught skipping I’d stay down here till they’re gone.”

     “Barry—”

     “It’s okay, really.”

     He pumped hand sanitiser into his palm like he could never get enough. It didn’t seem fine.

     “Chinese for dinner. I’ll bring it on the way home,” he turned to leave but stopped in the doorway to look back at her. “Seeing you here, worrying like a war widow… it helps, sweetheart. You’re already helpin’ just by being you.”

     Barry left, his hurried footsteps echoing through the halls. Casey sat in the wooden chair Jade kept by the mirror and tried to work out just what could have happened.

* * *

 

“Barry’s as bad as Kevin. They just can’t handle reality.”

     Jade had been the one to return from the appointment. She hadn’t told Casey what happened—something about a prank was as far as she got—but there was an air of sympathy in the harshness of her words, like she was trying to convince herself more than Casey.

     “He’s having a break for a while. Dennis is the only one who’ll actually work aside from him, so now we’re gonna to have to listen to that perv all day.”

     “Why don’t you take the Light?” Casey asked. “You know what you’re doing.”

     Jade gaped at her.

     “ _ Moi? _ ”

     “Are you  _ sure  _ you aren’t Barry?”

     Jade waved her off with a laugh, “You wouldn’t catch me dead doing that peasant work. It was bad enough at the convenience store. They’re all so  _ rude  _ to you. I’d have to wear rings to remind them I’m a boss bitch, not their bitch.”

     Casey laughed, imagining Jade demanding the patrons visiting clean up after themselves. She could probably get them to do it.

     “I could get a job. It wouldn’t be much outside of school, but—”

     “Peasants work,” Jade interrupted. “We’re too  _ good  _ for it. Let Dennis do the heavy lifting, God knows it makes him feel useful.”

     “He doesn’t seem that bad…” Casey replied, then amended her statement when Jade shot her with a look: “He could be worse.”

     “Mhm, he could. At least he keeps his thoughts to himself—oh wait, he doesn’t,” Jade flopped stood only to collapse back on Casey’s bed. “It’s not all bad. All of this… Kat and I have been talking and we’re pretty sure it’s the best chance we’re going to get.”

     “For what?”

     Jade rolled to face her, her head propped up on one hand, “To go  _ out _ . Live! Dance and drink and go nuts.”

     “Are you sure? If Barry—”

     Jade blew a raspberry.

     “Fuck him, he never lets me go out. He says I’m too irresponsible, but you and me, we’re the same age. Are  _ you  _ irresponsible?”

     “I don’t… think so?”

     “You’ll watch my back and I’ll watch yours,” Jade continued. “They’re leaving Ian on watch tonight, I dunno what for, but he’s allergic to alcohol so he can’t take the Light. And Kat’s stronger than he is so he won’t wake anyone up. It’ll just be us girls, all night,  _ finally. _ ”

     It was a bad idea. Casey knew it was a bad idea. No good would come of following Jade into the dark to a place filled with drunks and loud music. Casey hadn’t liked drunks for years, but at the same time…

     “I’m in.”

     Why should she let her uncle dictate the rest of her life?

     “Fuck yes. C’mon—” Jade grabbed her wrist and dragged her off the bed, “We’ve gotta get  _ ready. _ ”

* * *

 

The bouncer hadn’t ask for Casey’s ID. A lingering once over was all it took to get her into the club, but his eyes left scorch marks over her black dress. Jade hadn’t let her wear jeans or hoodies—it wasn’t the right  _ vibe _ , apparently—and had spent over an hour dressing her like a doll instead.

     None of Casey’s scars shone through the dress, none of her secrets illuminated with the blue and green and red lights. The crowd gave her more anonymity than she expected, even when Jade forced her onto the floor to dance.

     Jade moved like a girl, shimmied like a girl, twerked on Casey like a girl, but she hadn’t dressed like a girl. Casey knew she had wanted to, but there was the very real fear that others—outsiders, drunks, even the police—might harass her if she did. She’d made the best of it by thieving various items from the others—her own skin-tight jeans, one of Barry’s loose Henly’s, Kat’s oversized sunglasses, Dennis boots laced over the jeans, and one of Patricia’s scarves tied around her head—but looked more androgynous than feminine when she wasn’t moving.

     She led Casey to the bar and ordered them shots of something sweet which stained the back of their throats. She flirted with the bartender and got two more, for free, then with the man beside her—which she promptly threw in his face for leaning too close to Casey.

     Her sunglasses stayed on the entire time, eyes protected by the lights—“ _ They give me migraines, ugh _ ”—and pulled Casey into dance after dance after dance.

     When they were too tired and drunk to dance any longer, they claimed a small table in the back. The stools were high and Casey struggled to climb hers until Jade pulled her close, snuggling into her hair and tickling her throat.

     “Casey,” she slurred, her lips pressed against her throat, “have you been kissed yet?”

     A thrill of curiosity burned through her left a zephyr of drunken want in its path.

     “No,” she replied, “I never let anyone… kiss me.”

     “Hmmm,” Jade nudged at her jaw with her throat, “would you let me? Men always kiss me like I’m a man, and women kiss me like a man,” her hand moved to Casey’s waist, “I think you’d ki-kiss me like I’m a woman.”

     Casey’s hand rest on Jade’s thigh. She moved it higher, just below whatever might snap her out of it. They were friends and she knew Jade wouldn’t hurt her. There was no attraction, only curiosity and the burning left behind by sticky-sweet drinks.

     “You won’t tell?”

     Jade shook her head and lifted it higher until they were eye to eye, “I wanna know what it’s like.”

     Casey giggled.

     Jade giggled.

     Casey leaned in.

     Strawberry lip gloss smeared over her lips with the sloppy kiss. Jade laughed, thrilled at the control Casey wrenched from her as she was pulled forward by the neck. Their teeth clicked, tongues unable to stay on track as they giggled into one another.

     Jade pulled back, her pupils blown and the faintest dusting of pink on her cheeks.

     “D’you think I’ll… find a man who… who’ll kiss me like that?”

     Casey grinned and nearly fell off her chair, “Yeah, yeah you will. You’re—you’re gorgeous. I love you so much.”

     “I love you too, ugh, I’m gonna ugly cry.”

     They held each other close, whispering about how beautiful the other was, until Jade decided it was time to leave.

     “Y’know, since we’re out…” Jade slurred, half her weight on Casey’s shoulders as they walked down the alley, “we could—we  _ should _ , y’know, go kill that bastard.”

     “What bahstahd?”

     Jade chuckled, “You sound like Dennis. ‘ _ Where are the khahkis, Barry!’ _ ”

     Casey buried herself in Jade’s side to hide her own rumbling.

     “I meant you’re uncle though. Let’s… let’s go kill him. Get him back for, for… for y’know.”

     She knew, Casey knew, but she hadn’t been prepared for the reminder. Her giddiness evaporated and left her stock still. Jade noticed, stopped and turned to face her, but lost her balance and ended up pressing both of them against the wall.

     “Sowwy— _ Sorry, _ I lost my balance, these boots are—”

     Fear spiked through Casey, memories of John pressing her against walls and throwing her to the bed brighter than the lights of the club had been. Guilt seeped through the open wounds at making Jade’s face contort into one of contrition and, without thinking, she spoke her mind.

     “Yeah, let’s—I know where he keeps a gun. We should—”

     “Damn you’re like that Alien girl. Or… or Stephanie Connor… Sandra… Sarah!”

     Casey laughed, humourless and empty, and pushed her way past Jade. She kept her hand on her wrist to drag her behind, her entire being possessed with murder.

     “Casey—Case, we don’t—are you okay? You don’t—don’t seem— ”

     Casey didn’t reply. She kept moving, always moving, always fixing. She wanted to be free, finally free. Free forever.

     A sharp tug brought her stumbling backwards.

     Jade had gone.

     “Casey.”

    ‘ _ No! _ ’

     She tried to break free of Dennis’ grip but his hand only tightened.

     “What are you doing?” he looked over himself then surveyed their surroundings. “What were we doing?”

     “We were making out,” Casey replied petulantly, “and now we’re going to kill my uncle.”

     Dennis’ grip tightened further as he licked his lips. He gave Casey a once-over, then another, and licked his lips again.

     “You’re drunk.”

     “So is Jade,” Casey snapped. “So are you.”

     He shook his head, the loose shirt now stretched dangerously over his body. The sunglasses slipped down his nose so he placed them in his pocket.

     “Is this what you want?”

     Casey didn’t hear him, too transfixed by how sculpted his chest looked. She felt a tingling, wondered how it would feel to have him pressed against her as Jade had been. He wouldn’t be sloppy, wouldn’t let her guide them; Dennis would control her, seize her and possess her until she cried out for  _ more, more, more _ .

     He must have seen it in her eyes, recognised the signs usually attributed to himself, because he pulled her towards him. She yelped, stumbling backwards against the wall they’d only just left, completely crowded by the feel of his body against hers.

     “Is this what you want?” he growled, one hand on her wrist and the other on her waist. “To be a murderer?”

     Casey shook her head and arched her back. She wanted to break him, to crack his resolve and step on the broken pieces. When his breath caught, she knew she might be able to do just that.

     “And this?” he pressed himself against her thigh. Hard and heavy, hot and— “Do you want this?”

     Casey gasped.

     “You want to be fucked in an alley next to a dumpster?” he moved against her, bruising her hip, “Do you think you’re trash? That this is all you’re worth?”

     He leaned into her neck but didn’t kiss her.

     “You’re not dirty, Casey.”

     Her face felt damp as he pushed away, but she couldn’t look away from his stricken expression. He backed away, kicked at a garbage can, then took a deep breath.

     “Stop rushing,” he muttered. “Just… let yourself…”

     He turned to face her again, this time softer.

     “We’re going home.”


	16. Aware

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls note that maturity warning :)

Jade and Casey’s ill-fated adventure wasn’t spoken of. The others hadn’t known (or if they did, they didn’t talk about it), and Jade hadn’t been in the Light for weeks. Dennis had been more distant than usual, now three feet away whenever he needed to stand near her, but forced himself to greet her with a gruff ‘ _ Morning, _ ’ ‘ _ Hello, _ ’ or ‘ _ Night, _ ’ whenever they saw each other.

     Barry hadn’t been in the Light either and only ventured out to speak with their doctor or leave Casey notes. She felt terrible and helpless, wanted nothing more than to hold him and whisper all the same things he’d told her into his ear.

     But another, darker part of her was glad he hadn’t seen her properly. She wouldn’t last half conversation without talking to him about Dennis; about the not-kiss in the alley and the dreams she had each night.

     “ _ Casey. _ ”

_ Her name sounded better when he said it, tasted different when it was growled into her mouth. Her arms pulled him onto the bed, his attempts at escape strictly for show. Dennis wanted her, wanted to take her there and then. She wrapped a leg around his hips and ground against him, not bothering to hide her gasps or stop her nails digging into his shoulders. _

_ “Casey, I’m tryin’ to be good.” _

_ “It’s good,” she breathed, “touch me, make it better.” _

_ She ran a hand over her hiked-up dress and rubbed herself. He watched, transfixed, mouth half open as she pulled her drenched panties to the side. _

_ “Make me feel good.” _

     The first dream came the night she and Jade ventured out. It had been so real, so intoxicating, she’d been forced to slip a finger inside of herself to see if it had really happened. Relief and disappointment mixed in her when she found it hadn’t; something she’d chased away with two fingers and a long morning spent in bed.

     The thoughts came whenever her mind was idle. Classes were unbearable, the shame of arousal hot on her neck whenever her mind wandered. She wanted to know how it felt to want it, to beg and plead until she was put out of her misery. Dennis wouldn’t be kind or soft with his words, wouldn’t tell her he was all she had and to enjoy the only attention she’d ever get.

     Dennis would be honest. He would scratch her skin with his calloused hands, grip her hips as he pounded her through the mattress, and gasp her name with a whimper and a growl when he spilled. She would show him how she liked to be touched and watch as he did the same in return. There’d be trysts in hallways, in showers and the kitchen. He would watch her, know the difference in how she held herself when she wore underwear and when she didn’t.

     He would own her but never think he did.

     Casey sighed. It was nothing more than a fantasy brought on by her newfound freedom. Dennis was hard and rough, had problems she couldn’t begin to understand, and barely knew her. He held an attraction for her, but it stemmed from what was penned in John’s letter.

     She needed to move on. It wasn’t fair for him to have her blushing or squeezing her legs every time she saw him. It probably made him uncomfortable; she knew all too well what a traitor one's body could be to their mind.

     Casey looked up from the homework she’d laid on the kitchen table and watched as Dennis rolled his sleeves. How delicate he was with each utensil, how precisely he cleaned each plate.

     The now  _ incredibly  _ familiar feeling pooled in her stomach. He was washing dishes—one of the least attractive things a person could do—and yet she found herself drawn to him.

     “I’m… going to shower.”

     He looked over his shoulder at her, scrunching his nose to push his glasses up, “Are you coming back to study?”

     “I—yeah, if you… is it okay, if… I leave it here. On the table.”

     “Yes.”

     She felt like an idiot.

     “Okay, then… then I’m going to… clean my room then.”

     He raised an eyebrow, “While you’re showering?”

     Casey felt that same flush, that same feeling, and gave a vague kind of nod before she scurried away. She told herself his chuckle was a cough and tried not to think about it as she showered.

* * *

 

“Do you like Mr Dennis now? Et thetra?”

     Casey choked on her water, coughed, and spat it over the table. She hit her chest with a fist, desperate to clear her aching throat as Hedwig cackled at her.

     “ _ Gross! _ ”

     Hedwig took a sip of water and Casey knew immediately what he wanted to do.

     “Hedwig!”

     Hedwig gulped and poked it tongue out at her.

     “My pasta is wet,” Casey poked at the dish and hoped it would change the topic. “Do you want some ice cream?”

     “YEAH!”

     She laughed as he leapt from the chair and bolted for the freezer. In half the time it would have taken her just to get there, he was already back with two ice-creams in his hands.

     “I want the red one, you can have the yellow one.”

     “What if  _ I  _ want the red one?” she teased.

     Hedwig grinned, sang a quick: “ _ Ask Mr Dennis, _ ” and dropped the yellow one in front of her, “et thethra.”

     “I don’t like Mr Dennis,” Casey pouted, “not more than I like you.”

     “ _ Duh, _ ” Hedwig mumbled around his ice cream. He sucked it thoughtfully, then pulled it away with a wet slurp. “We don’t play anymore.”

     “Yes we do,” Casey insisted. “We were dancing today.”

     “Not at the park. Can we go back to the park?”

     No, they couldn't. The park was too close to John’s apartment and it wasn’t worth the risk. Even if it weren’t, Casey never wanted to revisit the place she had cowered after being followed in by strangers. She never wanted to feel such apathy for herself ever again.

     “ _ Please? _ ” Hedwig opened his eyes as much as he could. He’d learned about puppy-dog eyes and, while he couldn’t do it properly when he tried, the effect was still there. “I’ll be good. Et thetra.”

     Casey sighed.

     “It’s too late now, but… tomorrow, if you’re good.”

     Hedwig sat up straight and beamed around his ice cream. If nothing else, at least Casey got to see how happy he was.

* * *

 

It was Luke who drove them to the park. In theory, it had seemed like a good idea; most of them had their license and Hedwig described Luke’s driving as ‘fun’ and ‘cool’. In practice, Casey was sure they weren’t going to make it there alive.

     When he wasn’t yelling at other drivers or threatening to race the police, he was swerving in time with the incredibly high country music. He looked at Casey whenever he could, his attention so far from the road she was forced to scream at near-misses, but he didn’t seem bothered.

     “Gotta let the ‘dren-a-leen run through ya, lil lady. Get a lil high on nature’s drugs.”

     If Casey ever thought to try drugs in the future, she was sure she would remember the terror of Luke’s driving and abstain.

     They screeched into the parking lot and left tyre marks as he parked. Casey nearly fell out the door as she clambered out, leaving Luke to laugh at her when she collapsed on the grass.

     “Thanks for lettin’ me take her for a ride,” he said as he tossed the keys towards her, “jus’ don’t tell the Horde, or I’ll have a time out like Jade.”

     There were many things Casey wanted to say, but she let him wink himself out of the Light.

     “Luke is  _ so. Cool. _ ”

     Casey shook her head. Of course, Hedwig thought it was fun.

     “I wanna play on the swings. Et thetra,” he bounded past her and jumped into the swing seat, “Come  _ on,  _ Casey!”

     She rolled her eyes and offered him a wave. The ground was a comfort she was unwilling to give up just yet, her world still slowing after Luke’s erratic driving. She could see the concentration on Hedwig’s face as he swung higher and higher, his toes pointed to the sky and his knuckles white on the chains. So enraptured by his happiness was Casey that she checked her phone without thinking as soon as it vibrated.

     [ **Behind u** ]

     “No.”

     No one heard her. She was alone. She was alone and John was there.

     [ **I miss u Casey Bear** ]

     She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

     [ **Dont u want to say hello ?** ]

     It wasn’t Casey who rose to her feet, nor was it Casey who walked obediently to the parking lot. Casey would never have done something so completely stupid, especially when Hedwig was so close by.

     It was the little girl who lost her father who walked towards the truck. The niece who wanted so badly to be loved, so desperately to hear each and every story her uncle knew about her parents. The girl who stood in the woods with her feet rooted to the ground with a gun on her shoulder; the one who couldn’t pull the trigger, no matter how badly she wanted to.

     John wound down the window with a grin and a wave. Just ol’ John saying hello to his favourite niece, wanting to catch up because he missed her.

     “You look good, Casey.”

     She stopped out of reach and swallowed the bile before it hit her mouth.

     “C’mon, don’t you want to give your old man a hug?”

     “You’re not my daddy,” she snapped.

     John grinned, “So you haven’t lost your tongue, then. Good to know.”

     The chain of the swings moved faster. Casey wondered if he would touch the sky.

     “School hasn’t called much,” John continued. “You been good?”

     His fingers drummed on the steering wheel. Casey nodded.

     “‘Cause of him?” he nodded in Hedwig’s direction. “Your daddy would roll in his grave if he knew you’d run off to shack up with a man twice your age. What are you thinking, Casey?”

     “I need to go.”

     The creak of the chains on the swing stopped.

     John looked over her and frowned at whatever he saw, “That man’s a psychopath, Case. I’m worried about you bein’ over there.”

     She stepped back but kept her eyes on him.

     “He’s gonna beat you bloody,” John continued. “I can see it in him. He’s got the look. Wild, like an animal.”

     Casey cringed but hid it before he looked back to her.

     “Good thing you’re the only one with Buck Fever.”

     “Casey?”

     “I’ll see you ‘round, Casey-Bear.”

     John sped from the parking lot before Patricia’s hurried footsteps reached her. She didn’t fall, didn’t move; only watched as he merged into the street.

     “Casey, was that him?”

     Patricia gripped her shoulders, her blunt nails pressed hard into her hoodie.

     “I wanna go home, Miss Patricia.”

     It wasn’t Casey’s voice, but the voice of that same lost girl.

     “Of course, little dove,” Patricia’s voice was unsure but tinted with rage, “let’s get you home.”

* * *

 

                 “Did he say anything?”

                       “Quite a lot by the looks of it.”

                 “Did she tell you?”

     A pause, followed by the chink of metal against cheap porcelain.

                                   “Is Casey okay? Et thetra?”

                       “Has this changed your mind, Dennis?”

                 “No.”

                                   “But The Beast would beat him up!”

                       “You’ve let Barry and that doctor into your head.”

                 “It won’t make her happy. She’ll just be scared of us.”

                       “I know what you think. What perversions run through that head of yours—”

                 “I’ve been good.”

                       “You’re not thinking clearly.”

                                                     “What happened? Is Casey okay? Fucking—What did you two do to her this time?”

     Casey had pretended she couldn’t hear the conversation taking place in the driver’s seat. It happened occasionally and she knew they were never talking to her. But at Barry’s voice, one she feared she mightn’t hear for the longest of times, she couldn’t stop herself from reacting.

     Patricia turned when she heard her, but the battle for the Light had already begun. The car swerved as they fought, rocking in and out of their lane until Casey lunged for the wheel. Patricia froze, caught in a moment of frustration, and then it was Barry behind the wheel.

     “Wha—”

     “CAR!”

     He swerved just in time and pulled onto the shoulder. The two of them sat panting, Barry’s hands in a death grip on the wheel while Casey braced herself against the dash.

     “I really know how to make an entrance.”

     “ _ Barry—” _

     “Oh, oh Babygirl,” he unbuckled himself and reached over to cup her face. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around.”

     “I missed you.”

     The brightest smile she had ever seen on that face lit up the interior of the vehicle, “I missed you too, baby. You wanna tell me what I missed?”

     She sniffed, took a breath, but couldn’t keep her tears from falling. Barry was hurting, she knew that, but she couldn’t resist the understanding in his eyes and told him everything.

* * *

 

They hadn’t stopped far from the Zoo, so they’d opted to walk rather than be retraumatised by driving. Barry listened to everything Casey said—from the kiss with Jade, to the meeting with Ms Reynolds, a toned-down version of her dreams to everything with her uncle, the tigers on her birthday and the bracelet Hedwig gave her, and anything in between—without judgement, his only reactions the appropriate gasps and hums.

     By the time they entered the gates, he had heard everything she had kept to herself. She was spent but imagined he felt even worse, and set about making him tea by way of apology.

     “That… is a lot,” Barry said finally.

     Casey’s hand shook as she poured the tea.

     “You told me you didn’t want to be protected and… I believe you can handle things, but…” he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, “I watched you grow up from that kid with dirty shoes who played with Hedwig, to a teenager with dirty shoes who plays with Hedwig. I’m not gonna want to stop trying to protect you, so go gentle on me.”

     She sat the tea in front of him but kept her eyes low.

     “Thanks, doll,” he gripped the tea and stole its warmth. “First thing we’ve gotta do is work out what’s happening with… that man. You’re gettin’ closer to the age of majority and he knows it. He’ll be preparing an extinction burst, go all out.”

     Casey shivered and cowered into her cup.

     “I don’t know him well enough to say what he’ll do, but we should get prepared. I know… I know you don’t wanna talk to anyone about it, but I really think—”

     “I can’t tell the police,” Casey interrupted. “I… I can’t.”

     Barry reached for her hand and she let him catch it.

     “No one is gonna make you, you hear me?” he squeezed her hand, quietly asking for her to look at him. “No one. You remember the… thing I gave you, when you first came?”

     It was important, Casey knew that much, but exactly what it was evaded her.

     “Try to remember. If anyone— _ anyone— _ tries  _ anything,  _ use what I told you. You’re smart, honey, you’ll remember when it’s all settled down.”

     He released her hand in favour of sipping his tea, but his eyes never left hers.

     “In the meantime, I’ll talk to the bonehead about what we can do. We’ll work something out. How would’ya feel about getting picked up and dropped off every day?”

     “What about work?”

     “Sweetheart, the manager can do whatever he wants.  _ Especially  _ when it’s me. They’ll understand if I’ve gotta drop a beautiful girl off at school—we already let Tony do it.”

     “I… I wouldn’t mind. Thank you.”

     “No problemo. Now, I’m pretty sure we can put your tryst with Jade down to teenage experimentation. It doesn’t sound like you’re… like you have the space free to think any deeper on that, and I don’t want to offend you or nothin’, but Jade’s mostly been worried about doin’ your nails. So I think you’re all good there.”

     “So that’s everything sorted then,” Casey released her untouched tea and made to stand, “I should really show—”

     “Uh, uh, uh—that might work on Dennis, but it’s not gonna fly with me. Sit your bum back down.”

     “It’s okay. Really. I know it’s nothing. It’s a phase and it isn’t going to go anywhere. I’m not going to do anything, and I know he’s not—”

     “Casey.”

     She sat, hesitantly, but refused to look at him. She focused on the warmth of her teacup, the way it stung her skin but soothed her muscles.

     “This isn’t  _ nothing.  _ This is… I don’t wanna exaggerate, but it’s big for you. This is… it’s the first time for you, right? First… awakeni—”

     “ _ Please  _ don’t call it that.”

     Barry chuckled and rubbed his eyes, “I thought I’d give Hedwig the talk, not you.”

     “I know it’s a mess. It’s going to make things uncomfortable.”

     “Not for the reasons you think. Did he… do anything, when he showed you the tigers?”

     Casey shook her head.

     “Good. It’s one thing to run off with you without telling any of us, it’d be another to get you all confused. And the dreams, you’re sure none of that… happened?”

     “I… checked,” Casey winced and clutched her teacup tighter, “he didn’t. I didn’t.”

     “Dennis is… unstable. He was… He’s seen a lot, more than most of us. He was the first and… he saw more than the rest of us. Won’t even let us see what he’s doin’. Patricia, she thinks she knows what he’s thinkin’ and from the sounds of it, she actually might. He’s not… I don’t wanna say you have bad taste, hon, because I can see the appeal. For all his faults, Dennis is strong. He’s organised and clean. Honest, though maybe not with himself. He’s the opposite of your uncle, is what I’m sayin’.”

     “You think that’s all this is?”

     Casey wasn’t angry. She wasn’t much of anything. All she wanted was a cure, an antidote to rid herself of any kind of tension so things could go back to how they were.

     “I wish I could tell you, but it’s one of those things only time can reveal. What I do know is he doesn’t hate you. He’s… got some interesting thoughts, but that isn’t one of them. Don’t take that as some kinda… don’t get the wrong idea; he’s too old for you and you’re not even eighteen yet. You’ve got a whole life in front of you and a lot of boys—and girls—to meet yet. This is… part of your healing. I don’t wanna say it isn’t real, but I can say it’s a step in the right direction. So long as that direction isn’t Dennis.”

     Casey nodded but there was something trapped on her tongue. It writhed there, brushed against her teeth and the roof of her mouth until she had to get it away from her.

     “I think you’re wrong about him. He’s… he’s nice. To me.”

     Barry smiled, “I know, sweetheart. I know.”


	17. Removed

Every morning, Barry drove Casey to school. Every afternoon, Barry picked Casey up from school. Luke had been banned—perhaps permanently—from driving, Heinrich couldn’t be trusted to take Casey to school (supposedly, he never learned to keep his thoughts to himself so his plans to take her to a Casino to teach her to count cards had been discovered), and Patricia decided it was much too dangerous, lest she see John for herself.

     She saw less of Dennis, much less, until it was scarcely once a week if she were lucky. It may have been Barry’s doing but she couldn’t bring herself to feel indignant. It was for the best and she wouldn’t force anyone into the Light if they didn’t want to be there.

     Of course, that didn’t stop the pining or the dreams.

     Dennis consumed her evenings. He always hovered over her, always watching as she tried and failed to seduce him. They would kiss, over and over, but he would never touch her. He only watched, captivated by the way she moved against her fingers. Her hand would grip his shirt, pop buttons and scratch at his chest, but still he refused to give in.

     It was always the same dream. Always the same primal frustration.

     Even there, he wouldn’t touch her.

     It was infuriating.

     How old did she have to be before he accepted her consent? The law said sixteen, but the Dennis in her dreams was still reluctant. Did she need a walker before he’d believe it? Too much arthritis for her to wrap her legs around his neck? He was just a dream, a fantastical apparition, but he still wouldn’t do her the decency of relieving the ache he caused between her legs.

     It was too cruel, and the disappearance of the real Dennis only made it worse.

     If she saw him, maybe it would act as exposure therapy. Maybe he would do something disgusting or say something completely stupid. She could build up a tolerance to him at least, and wasn’t that something she needed to do? Surely it would be better than having her heart run a triathlon that one time a week he mumbled a “ _ Hello, _ ” in her direction.

     “Knock, knock,” Barry called from the other side of her door, “You hungry? Or decent? I’ll accept either.”

     Was she decent? She looked over herself and around the bed. The desk caught her attention and she froze, something like a memory twisting in her mind.

_ “Casey—” _

     “ _ Dennis. _ ”

_ She pulled him by the collar of his shirt towards the desk. Her thighs hit the edge so she wiggled back onto it and wrapped her legs around his waist. _

_ “You’re drunk.” _

_ “So?” _

_ “You don’t want this.” _

_ “I do.” _

_ “Casey—” _

_ “Kiss me,” she leaned towards him, not enough to touch but enough to threaten. His hands moved to her thighs, holding them in a vice grip before running over her skin. _

_ “You’re young,” Dennis said, but his resolve was clearly cracking. _

_ “I’ve done it before,” Casey whispered, “but I want to do it now. I want you to be the person I want to do it with.” _

_ “You can barely speak,” he laughed. _

_ “I can do other things with my mouth.” _

_ Dennis groaned and closed his eyes. Casey took the opportunity to steal a kiss, one he eagerly reciprocated once the shock wore off. He lifted her easily, as though she weighed nothing but meant everything, and carried her to the bed. _

_ “Casey…” he kissed her again, desperate and hard, like he thought he’d never get another chance. “Casey, I’m tryin’ to be good.” _

_ “It’s good. Touch me, make it better.” _

     “Casey? Are you okay?”

     She didn’t know and was sure she never would.

* * *

 

Barry had noticed Casey was more introverted than usual almost immediately. Any plans he’d had to make dinner were scrapped the moment he saw her face, and he whisked her away to a nearby diner instead.

     “The tablecloth is plastic” he said, prodding a plastic flower. “If it weren’t for the view, I’d storm right outta here.”

     Casey knew she was meant to laugh, so she did.

     “I bet everyone’s jealous,” he continued conspiratorial, “probably gettin’ ready to call the cops to report a—”

     “The age of consent is sixteen.”

     “—fire, since you’re so—wait, what?” he leaned in, his brow furrowed. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

     Casey shifted, embarrassed at her outburst. “It’s just… you won’t get in trouble if anyone thinks that.”

     “Sure, because we’re not, y’know,” he made two rings with his fingers and slammed them together. When she didn’t laugh, he looked at her more closely. “Corruption of a Minor. Till you’re 18. If you were… wondering about that.”

     Casey winced.

     “Talk to me, babygirl. You’re giving me the willies.”

     The waitstaff placed their large order of fries—to share—on the table. Barry thanked her, gave her a quick wink and a smirk, but his face grew serious as soon as he turned back to Casey.

     She didn’t want to tell him. She felt… dirty. Obscene. She’d broken an unspoken rule, done something he couldn’t possibly forgive her for.

     “Casey?”

     It wasn’t fair to keep it from him. He needed to know what sort of monster he lived with, what sort of horrid creature he’d exposed to his mental roommates.

     “I…” she looked at him through her lashes and regretted it immediately. With a breath, she looked out the window and let her nails dig into her thighs. “I did something. To Dennis.”

     “A lot of us want to do something to Dennis. I’m sure a few of us would give you an awar—”

     “I did what those girls did to you.”

     Barry stiffened with a cringe, as though someone was screaming in his ear.

     “I made him go away, Barry. I’m… I’m so sorry, I—I was drunk, and, that’s what he says. When he does it. He comes in drunk and he gets into bed and—I’m the same. I’m exactly the same. Fuck, I’m—I’m no better, I’m—”

     “Both of you need to—Casey, Casey you’re not—”

     “I made him. I took advantage of him. I was drunk and he wasn’t and he didn’t want to hurt—”

     “The night you went out? Honey, Dennis wasn’t as drunk as Jade, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t drunk at a—”

     “I made him, Barry.”

     Casey looked at him, saw the disbelief and pain in his eyes. The betrayal.

     She looked away.

     “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so—I’m so sorry, after everything you’ve done for me—”

     “Honey, I’m sure it’s not that—”

     “—I’m no better. If you want me out I can leave tonight. I’m—I’m so sorry, I’m—I would never, never the same way, but—Barry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

     Barry took her hand in his and squeezed. He didn’t say anything more.

* * *

 

_ “Casey, I’m tryin’ to be good.” _

_ “It’s good. Touch me, make it better.” _

_ Dennis couldn’t speak. His focus bounced between her ministrations and her eyes, unable to decide what he wanted to watch more. He fell to the side, hit the wall with his shoulder, and watched as she arched her hips. The unmistakable hunger on his face drew a gasp from Casey’s chest, then a sigh when he groaned in response. She was close, nearly able to shred what was left of his composure, but she needed something more. Something big. _

_ “Dennis,” she moaned, just the way she’d seen women do in her uncles porn, “I want you.” _

_ Something snapped in Dennis. The change was immediate, instantly recognisable as his face contorted. His back straightened as his lips closed, his perpetual frown returning to where it belonged. _

_ “I’m  _ going  _ to be good,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. _

_ Casey stopped, “Why?” _

_ “If you need to ask, that’s why.” _

_ He pushed himself from the bed and adjusted the tent in his trousers. Casey laid there, spread, wet, and wanting, but he kept his eyes on hers. _

_ “It’s not good to lie, Casey.” _

_ As he left the room on uneasy feet, Casey’s world spun. She wanted to cry, to punch and kick at the bed until her embarrassment faded, but she didn’t. Childish though it was—and she did know it was—she upped her efforts. She groaned, moaned, mewled and cried out until enough time passed for an orgasm to have taken place. It hadn’t, never did, but Dennis didn’t need to know that. _

_ As she tucked herself into bed and cried into her pillow, she heard the loud  _ thump  _ of a doorframe being punched. _

* * *

 

They took the fries to go and drove home in silence. Casey watched as the world flashed by and pretended not to feel Barry watching her. In the mirror, she thought she saw a familiar truck, but it was gone before she could look at it properly.

* * *

 

“You’re not leaving,” Barry said. He’d turned the car off at least five minutes earlier but neither of them had the urge to get out yet. “Not unless you want to. If you want to leave when you’ve… processed everything, I won’t stop you. But none of us want you to leave.”

     “How can you trust me?”

     “Because you’re you,” Barry placed his hand on hers, easing his fingers over it until she unclenched her fist. ‘Because I’ve known you since you were four-feet high. Because I know you.”

     “What if I do it again?”

     “Dennis should be so lucky,” Barry muttered, then apologised. He collapsed against his seat and stared at the ceiling but didn’t move his hand from hers. “Dennis is... he didn’t touch you, you both say that—”

     “Wha—”

     “He heard. The others didn’t; he blocked them out. First time that’s ever come in handy.”

     Casey let her head fall against the window, her body flushed with mortification.

     “I asked him if I could tell you. He knows I don’t know much, but I know enough. He won’t tell you himself but… neither of us like seein’ you like this, sweetheart.”

     Her eyes closed tight. The tears would still fall but not without a fight.

     “When Kevin was little, his mother was… she wasn’t a nice lady. Wasn’t a lady. We’ve wondered if she’s even human. Just a real piece of—sorry. She is, was, a monster. She did… things to Kevin that no kid should have done to ‘em. When Dennis came along, Kevin was still a lil kid. Just this tiny thing, defenceless and sweet. You’d like him a lot.”

     Barry smiled to himself, his eyes far away.

     “Dennis was a kid too. Not like Hedwig, Patricia, Jade or Mr Pritchard—we dunno how it really happened or why we grew up—but a kid. Two years older than Kevin,” Barry shook his head. “And Dennis protected Kevin. Took a lot because he could. When it got too much, the rest of us woke up. Not all at once, but… over time.”

     Not for the first time, Casey wondered if she would ever meet Kevin. Patricia had told her years earlier she wouldn’t but a part of her had always held out hope. Though, now she realised who and what she really was, she wondered if Kevin might have the right idea about her. Maybe he stayed away, tucked inside the back pocket of his mind, because he sensed how truly disgusting she was and couldn’t bear to see her.

     She shook her head; it was a self-centred thought.

     “He’s got issues, put frankly. Big ones. Needs to be clean. Total control-freak. Patricia, she’s not much better. She tells all of us what he thinks. Most of us know it ain’t that bad—everyone has thoughts, good or bad—” he gave Casey a pointed look, “but he’s unstable. Doesn’t trust himself and I don’t trust him either. I’m… If you hadn’t told me yourself he hadn’t done anything, I’d have gotten the others to help me put him to sleep for a century or two.”

     “But it’s not his fault,” Casey rasped. “It was my fault.”

     “Darlin’, as much as you hate to hear it, you’re still a kid. Dennis is an adult. Drunk or not, tipsy or not, bad childhood or not, he shouldn’t have let it get that far. He knows better.”

     “That’s why he’s staying away?”

     Barry sighed and rubbed his ear.

     “I’m… I think I need to…” she grappled with the handle and freed herself from the now claustrophobic car. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

     Barry called out to her as she hurried inside but she didn’t look back. It wouldn’t be fair to let him comfort her, not when she’d made such a mess.

* * *

 

When Hedwig visited her later that night, Casey pretended to be asleep. He curled up beside her, held one hand in two of his, and told her in his quietest voice everything that had happened during their lunch break. If Casey cried, he didn’t notice.

* * *

 

The next day, Casey woke to a note from Barry. It started by saying she wasn’t in trouble, she was still loved and welcome, but they needed some time to process things. They’d booked an emergency appointment with Dr Fletcher and, while he knew Casey had a party, they might be late picking her up after and to wait indoors until he got there.

     She caught the bus to school, made sure to text Barry before, during, and after the ride, and turned her location on so he could find her.

     The classes passed in a haze. She couldn’t pay attention and barely knew which classes she was in. Her lunch was spent in the library, sat in an aisle as she pretended to read. The party for Claire’s birthday—the girl from her art class—nothing more than a burden.

     Casey didn’t want to go. She wanted to want to go, but really, she could think of nothing worse. She had never been particularly social, but Claire and Marcia—another girl from class—had really made an effort to include her. They never repeated the rumours about her, always smiled and asked how her weekend was. Once, Marcia had even given her a glittery pencil when Casey had forgotten her own and told her to keep it when she was done.

     It wasn’t much in the scheme of things, but to Casey, it had been a great kindness.

     The party was slow. She sat alone in her chair and only spoke when someone spoke directly to her. She scanned the room, more interested in the candid behaviour of other guests at the restaurant than her classmates, but kept finding herself in the way.

     A waiter should brush past her chair and she’d move to the left. A patron would bump her, and she’d move to the right. A busboy, and she’d move backward. It wasn’t until she hit the pot plant that she decided enough was enough.

     The party broke up around the same time. Casey walked to the far corner window and called Barry’s phone but it went to voicemail. She tried again, left a message, then sent a text. When she looked up, she saw Claire, Marcia, and Claire’s father watching her.

     “The, uh, car broke down.”

     A lie, but one she felt better than the truth. Somehow, she didn’t think saying her ride was in an emergency therapy session because of her would be quite as tactful.

     “I’m going to take the bus.”

     “You’re not taking the bus, I’ll drive you home,” Claire’s father said. “Claire has almost saved her half of the money she needs for a car. Isn’t that right?”

     Claire smiled, clearly proud.

     “It’s one of the few times left I can drive you guys around!”

     “Uh… I…”

     “You won’t be able to hear my dad tell jokes that only he thinks are funny for an  _ entire  _ car ride unless you come,” Claire added. “You don’t really wanna miss that.”

     Casey looked at her phone again. She knew Barry had wanted her to stay put, but wasn’t that only so she wouldn’t take public transport? If she got a ride from Claire’s father she would be safe.

     “Uh… yeah,” she said, “thanks.”

     She messaged Barry as they walked to the car. Claire and Marcia climbed into the backseat as Claire’s father packed the trunk, so Casey opted for the front seat. She didn’t know what to talk about so she kept her watched the mirror, counting down the seconds until she was home in her bedroom.

     The front door opened so she pulled on her seatbelt. When the door didn’t close, she looked in the mirror again and saw Claire’s father still loading up the trunk.

     “Pardon me, sir, I think you have the wrong car.”

     Casey turned slowly to the driver’s seat.

     “Sorry ladies, didn’t mean to scare you. I’m John, Casey’s uncle.”

     Casey watched in horror. She lost the power to move, the ability to speak.

     “Thought I’d surprise you with a lift home,” John smiled. “C’mon, Casey-bear, let’s get out of your friends hair.”

     No.

     John got̨ ̛out ͝of͜ ͡t̛he c҉ar̛ a͏nd ̵w̶alked ą͡r҉̷͡o͞u̸n͢d ̢͢͢t͞h̴e͡͠͏ f͏r̶ǫ̵n̴̵͠t͢.̡̘̥̖̗̞͎̗̤̜ ̮̞̜͉͟H͍̪̩e̝͖̞ ͓̣̝͉o҉̼̺̩̭̙͚p̫̻̫͙̭͍͎ȩ̡̤̼̳̼̮̹͚n̡̟̤̣̲̮ͅe͍̬̥̹̘̖ḑ҉͎̟̕ ̜̱̰̩͙̗̠͠h̫̗̫̮e͕̟ŗ̸͈͚͉̥̞̗ͅ ̷̛̖̻̰͕̳̼͚̘d̸͖͈͔o̖͉͉͕o̴̜̳̜̼̲͕̠͘͢r̨̗̯̪̖̕͝ ̭̦̗̭͖̥̣̲a̩̹̮̟͕̭n̡͕͍̞͎d̷͍̻̮̲͟ ̞͘͡u҉͈̠̞͖͘n̪̺̳̤͘ç̫̱̤͖̖̥̬̝ḷ̩͎i̱͞p̴̧͈̙̼̣̬͇̜̕p̷̯̼̲͔͎̬̝̼͝e̲̤̠̤͖̫͢ͅͅd̙͚̦̹ ̷̧̯̘h̸̤̻̼̝̫͙̘̺͞e̩̼̟r̫̼̳͎͡ ̴̩͙̲͉̤͚̯̕͠s̨̖͝e̜̝a͏̴͖͔ṭ͎̰͖̻b̠͍̩̬̻ͅe̛͡͏͓͕̤̟͚l͕̫̲̹̙̳͇t̴̨̙,̴̧̤ ҉̭̳̙͓͢t͟͝͏̬̠̩͚͕̬̖͕̲h̳̮͈̟͓͍̠̭̮͝e͡҉̰̣n̛͔̱̻̪̖̥̮̗͢—̗̩̯̼̗̹.̮͠

* * *

 

There was a flower on the pillow. Casey threw up.

* * *

 

The light had gone. Had they noticed her missing?

* * *

 

Casey didn’t cry. It's why he hurt her twice as bad.

* * *

 

“She’ll be fine,” Barry said. “She’s a good girl. She’ll wait inside like I said.”

     ‘ _ Check the phone. _ ’

     Barry did, much to Dennis’ relief. They were reckless in letting her find her own way to school and even worse in making her wait for so long to be picked up.

     “She said she got a lift home with Claire’s father.”

     Dennis huffed. He hadn’t met Claire’s father and didn’t know if he could be trusted.

     “Not everyone thinks about teenagers that way.”

_ ‘I recognise the ones who do.’ _

     Barry rolled his eyes and called Casey’s phone. From the way his fingers tapped on the wheel, Dennis knew it wasn’t only for his benefit.

     “Huh…” Barry pulled the phone from his ear and tried again. “It’s off.”

     Alarm bells rang in Dennis’ mind. Something was wrong. It had to be wrong.

     ‘ _ Can you check her location? _ ’

     “I am, I am… fuck.”

     He knew why Barry swore before he said it.

     “It’s off.”

     Furious and in sudden agony, Dennis shoved his way forward and hurled Barry out of the Light. He started the car and sped off, one hand on their phone as he searched for the Benoit’s address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry?


	18. Salvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> context and trigger warning for sexual assault/blunt and upfront language regarding sexual assault

Dennis lost control.

     A great roar reverberated through the room. It was inhuman, animalistic and primal in its honesty. Acidic darkness spread from the pit of Dennis’ stomach and vomited pure hatred over all who were nearby. Claustrophobic and wet, it burned with a thousand forgotten memories, tearing his throat until it was bloodied and raw.

     He wasn’t in the Light anymore. He wasn’t in his body either. He wasn’t anywhere, yet somehow, he was everywhere. Beneath their feet, above their heads—he watched as they, all of the others, heaved him into Barry’s chair.

     Dennis kicked out, gnashed his teeth and pummelled indiscriminately. The rage skinned him alive from the inside, removed each careful layer of control he had carefully built over the years. Without it, he was nothing more than a monster. A tyrant without an army, a killer on parole.

     No pain existed in the Room until She had been taken from him.

     The others weren’t strong like Dennis and it had taken all their effort to confine him. Absently, as he scratched at Luke’s face and swung at B.T’s hip, he wondered if he were the Beast Patricia prophesied. This unknown side had been cocked by obsession and triggered by fury; it was possible the disappointment, self-deprecation, loneliness, spite, and helplessness were nothing more than bullets in his arsenal.

     Dennis had lost his mind and he knew it. He couldn’t be controlled because there was no control. It had gone the moment She had. There was nothing left. 

     Barry’s chair had always been closest to the Light. It had been Dennis’ chair once, but they trusted Barry more than they trusted him. His chair had been tossed to the back, farthest from the Light, so everyone would see him as he walked towards it.

     Now, the chair closest was the only chair they were able to sit him in.

     He should never have listened to Barry. Barry, with his weak-willed fear and inability to see the world for what it was. Barry who had promised She would be fine, that he would take care of Her. That just because they were a little late didn’t mean it was the end of the world.

     The chair responded to the intrusion of Dennis’ body. No rope tied him to it, no shackles or chains, yet he was unable to move for the weight of that thought on him.

     It  _ was  _ the end of the world. The others were too stupid to see it, but it was an unavoidable truth. The one person who saw them (him) for who they were had been stolen from them (him). The only person in the world who trusted them (him), believed their (his) promises and always saw them (him) for the good and never for the bad was gone.

     Dennis stopped. He fell silent.

     His throat hurt. It hurt more when he swallowed.

_ Gone, gone, gone, gone. _

     (He would be strong because he was always strong. No one needed to know he was hurt. He wouldn’t let himself hurt.)

     Shredded and broken, his throat was as disfigured as he was.

     (None of them knew. None of them  _ understood. _ )

     The Room shuddered with his pain. The shroud he wore over his emotions had lifted, albeit slightly, and set free a multitude of evils he wrestled with each day. He pulled it closed again, kicked back the memories—Kevin’s mother chasing him with scissors for urinating on the toilet seat, Kevin’s fourth-grade crush laughing at the holes in his jeans, that girl in highschool who accused him of trying to rape her when she drunkenly kissed him—back underneath. There was too much to bear and, no matter how infuriated he was, Dennis could never let the burden shift to another's shoulders. He had to focus, to regain his lost composure.

     (But he couldn’t because She was out there instead of with him. She was with that predator, being tortured and abused. She was being touched in all the ways Dennis had been offered, all the ways Dennis wanted to touch her but wouldn’t.)

     Dennis had lost too much. He always lost too much.

     It was why he wasn’t allowed to have anything.

     “He’s not goin’ anywhere,” Barry’s voice sounded calm despite the shake to it. The others left off, stepped away like Dennis might lash out again, but Barry stayed by him. They touched, just an arm brushed against a shoulder, but Barry didn’t break the connection; he used it as a reminder, as a way to keep Dennis grounded to him.

     Like Dennis was as weak as Kevin.

     “We’ve gotta work together,” Barry continued, “come up with a plan.”

     Dennis crossed his arms and ignored the worry it caused the others. They should be worried.

     It was Barry’s fault. Barry, who had been shocked by Casey’s carnal interest in Dennis. Surprised she hadn’t remained twelve-years-old forever. Had wanted Dennis to touch Her, to chase the pain She felt away with the pads of his fingers and the length of his tongue.

     Only Dennis knew who She was. He had watched her, protective and vigilant, but always from a distance. He observed as She matured, had grown from Hedwig’s Friend to  _ Her,  _ and as She opened Herself up to them.

     To  _ him _ . As She opened Her  _ legs _ to him.

     Only him.

     She had played with herself  _ for him  _ and begged  _ him  _ to play with Her as well. She wrapped Her legs  _ around him  _ and ground Herself  _ against him _ . She had rut against  _ him  _ like a bitch in heat and left stains of her enjoyment over  _ his trousers. _

     (He hadn’t washed them yet and wouldn’t until his dick knew her smell had disappeared.)

     “Fuck this, we know where that prick lives,” Jade snapped. “Let’s fuck him up.”

     “I’m with Jade,” Luke added. “Let’s break ‘er out!”

     A murmuring followed. Dennis still couldn’t listen.

     They acted as though it were a democracy, like She belonged to all of them and they all had a say in how to get Her back.

     She didn’t belong to them and would never belong to them. She was  _ his _ and  _ his alone _ .

     Barry looked down at him, all understanding and sympathy like he knew or understood. Dennis tensed; he hated that look as much as he hated Barry’s touch. The look wasn’t for him, it was meant for Kevin. It belonged to Kat and Hedwig and Luke and all the others who couldn’t understand how the world worked or why it kept bending them over.

     Dennis was stronger, bigger.

     Dennis endured.

     Dennis didn’t need to be comforted.

     He looked to the black where Kevin slept. There, he could sleep as well. He could wrap himself in the memory of Her touch and his thoughts of what he should have done to mark her. Other ways he could have protected Her, changed how things had gone with a single different decision.

     If he could do it over, he would fuck her. He  _ should  _ have fucked her. He should have fucked her five times a day until her pussy recognised no dick but his own, until she was molded by it and lived for it. Until no man could touch her without feeling his desperation against Her skin and his obsession across Her lips. When She couldn’t walk, he would have fucked her mouth. Those lips were  _ his— _ She kissed him, moaned for him in Her sleep; She used them to seduce him with false cries which hadn’t matched the ones She left on the sheets after she dreamt of him and him alone. Those lips belonged to  _ him _ and he could do whatever he pleased with them.

     He would kiss them whenever he wanted. Soft, rough, hard, and slow. Drink Her sighs and become drunk off Her acceptance of him.

     (John was using those lips. She didn’t want John; She wanted Dennis.)

**_‘Dennis, Dennis, Dennis—you promised you would find me. You lied.’_ **

     Hadn’t that been what Kevin said when his father left as well?

**_‘Dennis, you promised. You promised you’d make him stay.’_ **

     Hadn’t Dennis broken that promise as well?

     Kevin’s father had been so much larger than they were. His hands were twice the size of Kevin’s and even when Dennis had held onto one with both hands, he had been dragged slowly to the door. Kevin’s father hadn’t believed he was real, had thought him nothing more than a coping mechanism, but had used his name anyway. He had spoken to Dennis like he was real living person; like he was a  _ son _ .

**‘** **_I need to get help for Kevin. I’ll be back soon,_ ** **’** **_he pried Dennis’ hands off his._ **

**_‘Please don’t go,’ Dennis begged, ‘I’ll--I’ll be good! I will!’_ **

**_‘I need you to be brave now, Ke—Dennis, to be strong,’ he replied, ‘Look after Kevin. I’ll be back before you know it.’_ **

     “We can’t break ‘er out, see. He’ll call the pigs, see.”

     The police? Dennis scoffed. If he found her, the police would never find either of them. He would take Her to the woods, somewhere no one could follow, and tie Her to him in every way imaginable. He would force Her to love him, to need and want him as much as she thought She did. He wouldn’t let Her out of his sight and She would learn to like it. To love it.

     His fingers twitched.

     No one else would get the Light, not after he took Her. It would be Dennis and it would be Her and they would live out their days in the woods, isolated, pretending to be anim—

_ No _ . No, no, no.

     Dennis shifted and straightened. Barry looked at him from the corner of his eye.

_ No, not that. Never that. _

     Barry’s touch became firmer, more deliberate.

     That _ fucking _ letter.

     (He was raping Her right then and there was nothing Dennis could do about it.)

     John didn’t know Her at all. He hadn’t even been close. The talk of her lips around his dick had made him hard, naturally, but the cutesy manipulative bullshit made him sick. It wasn’t Her and sounded nothing like Her. She was so much more than a few descriptions of lewd behaviour. She was…

     Filthy.

     Depraved.

     Sickened.

     She was the same as Dennis, all wanting and yearning and repressing. She had opened her mind to him and let him sort the pieces. Each thought had been the broken shard of mirror, a promise of reciprocation and imagination. She wanted to be as sick as he was and he wanted to be as sick as She.

     Hedwig stormed towards him, all pout and childish fury. He stomped on Dennis’ foot, frustrated with how the others had ignored how he pulled at their shirts and asked what was happening.

     “Mr Dennis—”

     “Settle down.”

     “We’ve gotta get Casey,’ Hedwig demanded, ‘et thetra.”

     Dennis frowned. The only thing he loathed more than hurting Kevin was was disappointing Hedwig. The kid had always had it rough and there was barely anything he could do to help.

**_Kevin’s father pressed a kiss to Dennis’ head. The “_ ** **I love you** **_” was for Kevin, but Dennis liked to pretend it was for him._ **

     “Mr Dennis!”

     Dennis looked down and found two of Hedwig’s hands grasping at his fist. He felt confused—shouldn’t it be Barry the boy went to for comfort? or Patricia?—but he didn’t pull away. In another life, he might have pulled the kid into his lap and ruffled his hair as he whispered lies into his ear, promises of finding Her and bringing Her home.

     “Dennis,” Patricia spoke directly to him, her words too quiet for the others to hear, “a word in private, if you wouldn’t mind.”

* * *

 

Patricia spoke but he barely heard it. His mind was elsewhere, trapped in the memory of a hallway with his hand around his cock. She was on the other side, moaning his name, and it was all he could stand not to break down the door and tear her to shreds. He’d spat on himself, imagined those kiss-bitten lips locked around him as he pushed into her throat. How her gurgling might tickle, how her nails might pinch his hips and drag him closer until he was thrusting inside her with no thought to whether she could breathe.

     He’d finished on the doorframe as she pretended to do the same. She didn’t know, couldn’t have known, how close she had been to true danger.

     Later that evening, he had entered her room to watch her sleep as he always did. Stared at her arse as it protruded from the blankets until he was hard again. He never touched her, never touched himself when he was near her, but always pulled the sheets back up to cover her.

     She was under his protection and had been ever since that day in the park when he’d pretended to be Kevin. She would be safe with him for a little while longer.

     Just until the inevitable happened and he fell in love. It was going to happen, that much he had known for at least half a year, but it hadn’t happened yet. She was still young and immature. Addictive, but not nearly as much as she would be down the line.

     When she knew herself, Dennis would never be free of her.

     The promise of that love, unrequited though it would be, prevented him from distancing himself. He had always wanted to love, to be allowed to love, and She— _Casey—_ would let him love her even though she would never feel the same way.

     “If we are ever to find our girl—”

     “ _ She’s not ours _ ,” Dennis snarled, omitting that it was because She was his.

     She covered herself in  _ his  _ shampoo,  _ his  _ soap,  _ his everything  _ every time She showered. She lathered herself in his scent, unknowingly pledging Herself to him each time She bathed.

     “—we will need his strength and cunning,” Patricia finished. She fixed him a look, one that spoke of equal possession and a willingness to fight for and over Her, then dropped her eyes to see Hedwig’s hands still gripping Dennis’. “We need The Beast.”

     “We’ve  _ gotta _ get The Beast!” Hedwig enthused. “He’s gotta get her back! Et thetra!”

      “I told you, I’m not hurtin’ anyone,” Dennis snapped. “And I’m not hurting little girls.”

     “They aren’t like our Casey, Dennis. Don’t you remember they hurt Barry? How that stupid girl lost our Casey? Surely any of them could suffice. They have wronged us and have wronged Casey, so they deserve to be punished.”

     Dennis tried to clear Her name out of his head with a shake. Patricia used it as a weapon to force him towards a fate he knew She wouldn’t like.

     “You thought that about Her when we met Her,” he said, “you said She’d be bad for the boy.”

     Patricia bristled but didn’t argue. She hadn’t noticed the pain She felt back then, hadn’t realised how dire the situation was until she caught Dennis listening to her in the bathroom after dinner. At first, Patricia had scolded him for his “new perversions,” until she realised their body wasn’t reacting. Dennis had told her how quickly She used the bathroom after meals, how She might be searching for something She had complete control over. It wasn’t so far-fetched to believe She might make Herself sick in pursuit of bodily autonomy.

     Denis decided to push his luck: “Maybe those girls are the same.”

     “Don’t be  _ foul _ ,” Patricia snapped. “You know well they aren’t.”

     “What about the scary man?” Hedwig chirped. “Would the Beast wanna have him? Et thetra?”

     “Such filth. The Beast would be repulsed.”

     Dennis was already thinking. Would it be so terrible if Her uncle were sacrificed to the mythical being Patricia and Hedwig had partially summoned from the depths of the black? If anything, wouldn’t it be doing the world a service? Wouldn’t it protect Her?

     (Her lips were soft and Her sighs tasted like honey. She was a gift and he wouldn’t let anyone take Her from them. From  _ him. _ )

     “Would it work?”

     Despite the clear disgust she felt at the solution, Patricia reluctantly nodded. “It would do. For now.”

* * *

 

“Casey doesn’t wanna tell the authorities yet and we don’t know if she will if we call them,” Barry sounded like he was convincing himself more than Orwell.

     “Oh, get fucked, I’m not fucking—” Jade, in her stress, found comfort in cursing. No one stopped her, not even Patricia.

     “I’m with Jade, let’s go git the lil’ lady!” Luke added.

     “We’ll break in, see—”

     They went around in circles, retracing the same arguments and foils over and over. None had an original thought.

     “Shut up,” Dennis’ voice, though monotone, boomed around the room. It settled beneath the skin of the other alters and chilled their bones to ice; a reminder of other panicked meetings where quick-thinking had been the only thing between Kevin and a bullet.

     They stared at him in frustration and rage.

     “You don’t even  _ like  _ her,” snapped Jade.

     Barry put a hand on Dennis’ shoulder and squeezed. Dennis pretended he hadn’t noticed.

     “This hasn’t worked,” Dennis said. “Patricia and me, we—”

     “You  _ can’t  _ be  _ serious? _ ” Jade laughed. “You fucking two think you fucking—”

     “With or without your help, we will get Her… get  _ Casey _ back tonight,” Dennis continued. “Once the preparations have been made, we will summon—”

     “ _ Dennis _ ,” Barry had never used that understanding, desperate tone on him before.

     Dennis ignored him again. He ignored how it stung and how he knew that if he heard it again, he wouldn’t go through with the only plan he saw working.

      “—The Beast. We… we aren’t strong enough to find her but The Beast will.”

     “Dennis,” Barry continued in that same, agonising voice, “we can come up with—”

     “This is  _ not  _ up for discussion,” Patricia snapped. “Kevin needs protection, as does Casey. If we trust in Him, we shall find our salvation. If we do not, we will be forced to wait until her eighteenth birthday.”

     The room exploded into chaos. Dennis refused to listen; he hadn’t liked it any more than anyone else had but time was on the essence. She needed them. She needed  _ Dennis. _

     He had to prove he wouldn’t break another promise to her.

     He needed her to know that, no matter what or who stood between them, She was his.

     He would come for her, every time, with as much power and force as needed.

     He would prove he could protect her, and when he found her, he would promise her just that all over again.


	19. Abyss

Dennis never got scared.

     He wasn’t scared when he approached the subway two days later.

     He wasn’t scared when he boarded the empty train.

     He wasn’t scared when a creature born of self-belief and pure, unadulterated grief curdled with terror tore at his very fibre and consumed what made Dennis, Dennis.

     He wasn’t afraid when he was pushed out of the Light and saw the hulking Beast crowding it. They had done this for Her.

     For Casey.

     His Casey.

_ Casey. _

     (He missed her. He wanted to smell her. To hold her. Touch her. Taste her. Squeeze her. Make her promise to never leave his sight. He wanted to fall in love with her, to feel that fear of falling, and to hold her hand as she fell with him.)

    She had still been their Casey when she’d stood beside him in the graveyard and hadn’t asked too many questions. When she’d stood in front of Hedwig when she was still so young herself, protecting him from her worst nightmare. When she’d realised there was more than just Hedwig, yet had beamed and called them  _ cool  _ instead of feeling afraid.

    She had been their Casey while Dennis stayed away. When she had been under his protection but he hadn’t been under her spell. She had only become his Casey when she grew older and he saw the firm clench of her jaw from beneath her grief. When she had saved herself, over and over, and hadn’t simply laid down to die.

    She was his Casey when he saw her strength and the glimmer of what she would become inside her eyes. When he had seen her kindness, her inability to blame others for her own faults, and her willingness to grow and learn and discover who she was.

    She was his Casey. His, whether she knew it or not, because he would always be Her Dennis. Maybe he wouldn’t ever be good enough or healthy enough or simply  _ enough _ , but there hadn’t been a day he hadn’t tried to improve. He would spend the rest of his life, as long or short as it may be, pushing himself to change and distort until his obsessions and faults were neatly packaged. Until he was safe enough to fall, as he knew he would, in love with her.

    Until he was  _ good enough  _ to deserve that one feeling that would be his and his alone.

    (He’d already bought new toiletries for her, ones that wouldn’t smell anything like him.)

     Dennis never got scared, so when he reached for Hedwig’s hand, it was only to comfort the boy.


	20. Reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big trigger warning for sexual assult here. please be warned about that.

Good ol’ Uncle John, with his hands in her hair and his body over hers.

     Poor orphan Casey, with her face in a pillow and no tears in her eyes.

     She wouldn’t cry. It made him angrier.

     She heard more than felt the knife along her back. The sound of her flesh torn open, of her blood running free.

     The bottle crashed across her rear had hurt more. The burns and slices only numbed her.

     Casey hadn’t cried and she hadn’t cried out. She wouldn’t give him, or anyone else, the pride of uncovering her voice.

     She had learned years earlier what little control she had over her life.

     She had taught herself how to keep it; how to cherish it like a memory and polish it like a trophy.

     Glass shattered from behind her—another bottle maybe.

     There was a groan, one different to the pants and grunts of her uncle.

     He stopped moving and turned, then cursed under his breath. Her back was cold when he pulled away yet she stayed still in case it were another trap.

     She’d learned that the hard way, too.

     ‘ _ When will you learn, Casey-bear? You need to follow instructions. _ ’

     It’s what he said when she tried to run again. When she’d sprinted to her bedroom, to the window, and found herself caged inside. Iron bars on the outside, the window itself drilled into the sill. Trapped, again, with no possibility of escape. Even after she turned eighteen she knew he wouldn’t let her out until he broke her.

     He’d been breaking her for days.

     ‘ _ No one is coming to save you, Casey. If he steps within ten feet of you, I’m calling the cops and getting my gun. I’ll tell them he touched you and they’ll believe it. They’ll find him all over you. _ ’

     “Fuck—! Casey, get the gun!” John yelled. “NOW!”

     Something crawled through the window. The barred and drilled window.

     Casey leapt from the bed and made for the door.

     “ **You hurt her.** ”

     She stopped but refused to look. She had seen Them over the last few days. In the street beyond her curtain, in her reflection, on the ceiling, in her pillow. They weren’t real, just another symptom of her mind unravelling.

     “ **She is pure.** ”

     John pushed past her and out the door. He was searching for the gun, any of the guns, and yelled for Casey to get behind him.

     Casey stood, half naked and bleeding, exactly where she was. Whoever stood in front of her wasn’t anyone she knew. He was bigger. Larger. Looked less like Kevin than the others.

     His eyes raked her body, unwavering and hungry. There was no lust, no deviance.

     Understanding. Adoration.

     Words that could never be associated with Casey Cooke.

     He reminded her of Dennis.

     “ **Come.** ”

     She moved towards his outstretched hand.

     “ _ CASEY! _ ”

     John was a memory, an echo.

     “ **Rejoice,** ” the stranger whispered as his nose ran over her skin, “ **_the broken are the more evolved._ ** **Rejoice!** ”

     Something Casey couldn’t name snapped inside of her. Her lungs wouldn’t work, her throat closed, eyes burned and nose ran. The stranger grinned at her, smug and ecstatic with her tears. She fell against him, fingers splayed as they sought purchase on the exposed skin of his chest.

     Reaching, searching—

     A gun cocked. Casey was shoved hard towards the window.

     The stranger growled and leapt to the wall.

_ Climbed  _ the wall.

     Casey remembered the stories Hedwig and Patricia told her whenever she was upset. The ones about a Beast who protected the broken and punished those who weren’t. A creature who lived in the hidden static of Kevin’s mind, who prowled the deep recess in search of freedom.

     A blast went off. The Beast fell from the ceiling.

     Casey cried out.

     The Beast rose.

     John yelled and aimed again but he couldn’t take the shot.

     “Buck fever,” Casey mumbled, her mind a thousand miles away.

     “ **You cannot harm me,** ” the Beast declared, “ **I am not human.** ”

     John slammed into the opposite wall. The gun fell to the ground. He scrambled away but left the plaster cracked behind him.

     “Casey, run—”

     John hit the ceiling and fell like dust to Casey’s bed. He rolled to the side and to the floor. The gun was close but the Beast was closer.

     In a moment of supreme clarity, Casey realised John would die in his underpants.

     The Beast growled as he stalked towards his prey. John pushed himself back on his hands and feet until he hit the wall. He eyed the gun but he knew he wouldn’t make it.

     The Beast lifted him like a ragdoll. Turned him. Embraced him.

     John screamed.

     Casey couldn’t understand what she was seeing. It was surreal, moving in slow motion against a tide of adrenaline.

     The Beast tightened its arms.

     John cried out.

     “N-No,” Casey stuttered; she couldn’t have him die in there, couldn’t have him  _ die  _ at  _ all.  _ “Wait, no—”

     The Beast looked at her, relaxed his grip, then continued where he left off.

     No.

     She had told Dennis she didn’t want to be a murderer. She didn’t want anyone else to be either.

     No.

     No, no, no, no, no.

**_“Try to remember. If anyone—_ ** **anyone** **_—tries anything, use what I told you. You’re smart, honey, you’ll remember when it’s all settled down.”_ **

     She clawed at her memory, searched desperately for the answer. It was a name. A name on a card. On Kevin’s license.

     Crumb, Kevin.

     Kevin Warren. Kevin Walter.

**_He passed her the driving license for the man she’d never met. His full name was listed, looked so bizarre next to the face she didn’t recognise, and she couldn’t help but whisper it out loud._ **

**_“Kevin Wen—”_ **

**_Barry covered her mouth, “Not now, only if Dennis tries to… only if you need to make one of us leave. Don’t say it unless you absolutely have to.”_ **

     “Kevin Wendell Crumb.”

     The Beast twitched and loosened his grip.

     “Kevin Wendell Crumb!”

     It stumbled back, made a larger crater of the one John had left. His prey fell to the ground, rolled onto his stomach and emptied his stomach.

     “ _ KEVIN WENDELL CRUMB _ !”

     The Beast shrank. He stumbled forward, tripped on the mattress and scrambled to the door. Casey followed, more concerned with whatever she had done than the state her uncle was in.

     Shock, she realised. She was in shock.

     “Who are you?”

     It was a voice so like Barry’s, but with a totally different accent and inflection.

     “Did I… Did I do this to you?”

     Casey closed the bedroom door behind her, “No.”

     Kevin didn’t look convinced. His sad eyes roamed her, noted every injury and battle scar. Casey stood silent, unable to move until he finally looked her in the eye again.

     “I—I’m so sorry, I was—”

     Kevin’s body shook. He staggered forward, reached for Casey, but the thought of steadying anyone was incomprehensible. She couldn’t be touched, not then and maybe not ever. She needed to be safe. To cover herself. To hide.

     She fled to the bathroom and wrapped herself in the sweats she’d left in the hamper. Shock, she reminded herself, she was in shock. She had to remember it, make sure she had some water or  _ something _ .

     Shouldn’t the Beast have died?

     Hadn’t he been shot in the belly?

     She left the bathroom and realised Kevin was gone. There was only the body, now in the living room, still and unmoving as a fight raged for the Light.


	21. Baptism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: there's some potentially triggering themes and language in here!

“Casey—”

     She was filthy. Dried liquid stained her sweatpants and blood caked her flimsy shirt. Dennis stood still, fingers flexing as he forced himself to remember why they were there. She was filthy, yes, but there were other things to do. They didn’t have time to clean but—

     “Your clothes, they’re ruined,” he knew he shouldn’t say it but something awful would happen if he didn’t; something worse than everything that had already happened, “take them off.”

     Casey’s arms moved to cover her chest. She stood, silent with wide eyes.

     “Where are… where are your… you need—”

     She tilt her head towards her bedroom.

     “I’ll… I’ll get…” Dennis stepped forward and Casey stood her ground; it was a good sign, wasn’t it? “Stay here.”

     He made for her bedroom but paused before he entered. He did not look at her, but spoke loudly enough for her to hear him.

     “You’re safe, Casey.”

     She didn’t respond.

     “I’ll protect you.”

* * *

 

The ride home was uneventful. Casey didn’t speak, but Dennis didn’t either. She had changed before they left, had slipped her shirt over her head before he’d had the chance to turn away, then reached for his hand after he had. Her eyes, so large and impossibly wet, told him all he needed to know: Casey didn’t want to be alone, she needed him, she wanted him there.

     The others tried and failed to take the Light. It was Barry and Patricia who, with a great deal of difficulty, convinced Hedwig to wait. Mr Pritchard, in an unusual display of emotion, had demanded he be able to comfort Casey himself. She was more than a friend for him; she was the daughter he wished he could have, the girl he wished to see the smile of more than anything.

     Absently, Dennis wondered if he should be jealous or protective. He would have before, but now…

     Casey squeezed his hand. She hadn’t let go of him once, had even insisting on climbing into the car through the driver’s side. It broke Dennis’ heart and mended it all at once, leaving him clumsy and unsure of what he should do.

     (Be Her Dennis. Not Dennis— _ Her  _ Dennis.)

     The sun had fled much earlier. The Zoo was closed, all staff gone away, so Dennis felt it was safe enough to carry her inside. She fell asleep on his shoulder, her hands bunched in the collar and chest of his shirt.

     It would have been more responsible to take her inside immediately, but it would mean putting her down. Casey was incredibly light in his arms, molded against him as though she were made to fit there, and Dennis had always known he was selfish.

     He took her to the tigers. Watched them through the cage, his low voice soft and careful as he told her what he saw. She sighed then, rubbed her cheek against his racing pulse, and he thought she might understand what he was trying to say.

     Somehow, in some way, he thought he understood it himself.

* * *

 

It would be an invasion, Dennis knew that, but Casey was caked in filth. The filth of the world, of her uncle, and of Dennis himself. He knew how it felt to wake with tarnished skin and crusted memories. Casey didn’t deserve it, shouldn’t be forced to bear the shame of washing it off alone.

     He took her to the bathroom with the tub and placed her gingerly on the floor. She reached for him as he pulled away, but it was important he use the right tools.

     She couldn’t smell like him anymore, couldn’t be so attached without her knowledge.

     Casey needed to be her own person. Someone old who would feel new, who emerged after a lifetime of agony to find herself powerful.

     The toiletries, the new ones, were in her bathroom. Dennis collected them and some of her clothes. He paused when he gripped her hoodie (her favourite, which she had left it neatly folded on the bed). Would it have a memory attached? Would she be pleased or unhappy to wake in it?

     He opted for Hedwig’s jacket instead.

     Casey liked Hedwig and Hedwig wouldn’t mind. Maybe she would find comfort in the clothes of her best friend, a safety no one else could provide to her.

     When he returned to his own bathroom, he found Casey curled inside the tub. She looked at him with wide eyes yet they asked him no questions. She was not vacant, but an exhaustion had overwhelmed her. Like this, he knew she would do anything anyone said. She would follow along behind whoever spoke the loudest, trust them to lead her to safety, and never question her own actions until it was already far too late.

     A child, he realised. In that moment, she was nothing more than a frightened little girl.

     “You need a bath,” he said.

     Casey blinked.

     “You’re dirty.”

     Casey flinched. Dennis ran a hand over his scalp; he knew better than to use that word.

     “I’m going to pick you up,” he tried, “so I can run the bath.”

     She blinked again, and again, then reached for him. Dennis frowned, confused by her willingness, but scooped her out of the tub as gently as he could manage. Her arms tangled around his neck, shivering with the cool of her clammy skin. He searched her eyes again and found comfort in her irises; her pupils hadn’t dilated and her breathing wasn’t laboured.

     “Are you sick?”

     She shook her head.

     “Tell me if you feel sick.”

     He couldn’t risk taking her to the hospital after what had happened, but he wouldn’t let her die of shock, either. There had only been one time he had seen it get bad enough to need a doctor—when Hedwig had been in the Light for too long and Kevin’s mother had gone at him with a power cord—and he couldn’t simply switch into her body and force it away this time.

     He placed her on the floor to run the bath. The taps were old, took several tries to get anything even resembling a decent temperature out of them, and by the time it was filled half-way she had already fallen asleep.

     Or fallen unconscious. He hoped she hadn’t.

     “Casey.”

     She made no reply.

     “Casey, you need to wash yourself.”

     Still no reply.

     “Casey, I’m tryin’ to be good,” he mumbled, as though it might have made a difference if she were fully awake. “I can’t be trusted with this.”

     The level of the water rose, as did Dennis’ certainty that Casey was in no fit place to clean herself. When he turned the taps off he considered emptying the bath completely. Barry would have tucked her into bed already, Patricia would have forced her to eat, Jade would have snuggled up against her, and Hedwig… would have gotten Dennis.

     Still, he was the worst person to be in the situation. He knew the meaning of dirt, what it spelled when it brushed stains into clothing and wormed its way beneath a nail. Cleanliness kept them safe, gave him control over the situation. Dennis had never enjoyed cleaning and found it tedious at best, but it was the one thing that could make or break them. It was the very real difference between life and death.

     If he put her in the bed, let the blood and grime mix with the scent of detergent, she would die. If she didn’t, she would become hurt. If not that, then Hedwig would. Or Orwell. Mr Pritchard. Patricia. B.T.. Luke. Barry. Jade—Kevin.

     He couldn’t let Kevin be hurt. He couldn’t let Casey be hurt.

     Dennis took a breath to steady himself as he knelt beside Casey’s prone form. He muttered an apology, short and earnest, as he pulled her clothes from her body. They were thrown into the hamper—not to be cleaned, but to be burned—before he looked at her.

     Cuts. Bruises. Scars. Scorches. Grazes. Gashes. Clotted blood, running blood, peeled skin, glass shards, nail marks, bite marks—

     Dennis rose quickly, stumbled back into the toilet. They hadn’t known it was this bad.

     They hadn’t  _ known. _

     If they had, then— 

     If Dennis had… 

     If The Beast had—

     A memory smashed into his mind like an errant freight train. The feel of his calloused hands gripped tightly around his shaft, the sensation of falling water as it ran rivers over his skin. The choke and snort as he moved closer, closer, closer to an imagined flushed and splayed Casey beneath him. The feel of his fingers against his balls as he thrust into his palm, the sting of his lip as he bit down to keep his voice low, the ache in his hips as he finally tensed and dirtied the wall of the shower with his disgusting mess.

     He had been a fool and a pervert. Had let his mind be ruled by false words written in a letter, had allowed himself to wander down dark alleys as his eyes searched her hidden curves. If he had known, had realised what was happening… if he had known the  _ extent— _

     “I’ll be good,” he whispered.

     He wouldn’t jerk off to her again, wouldn’t let her trust be taken for granted.

     He  _ would  _ be good. 

_ Her Dennis. _

     Carefully, he lifted her from the floor. One arm was behind her neck, the other beneath her knees. He lowered her into the bath, winced as her bra drenched itself in the clean water.

     She wasn’t wearing underpants and The Beast had refused to say why. It was a strangely unsettling feeling, to be protected from a truth he already knew, yet Dennis couldn’t find it in himself to be upset.

     Things would be different, he thought. He would be better, try harder, do more.

     He did not clean her properly. His hands remained on the expanse of her legs, waist and back. The blood, dirt and semen pulled off slowly, fell to the water and disappeared beneath the surface. Soon, her tremors stopped.

     She was as clean as Dennis could get her, but he knew the rest would be up to her.

     He did not pull the plug when he lifted her out, nor when he dried her. It wasn’t until she was wrapped in her clothes and Hedwig’s jackets and tucked safely beneath the sheets of Kevin’s bed that he dared, but even then he worried the noise of the drain might frighten her.

     When he left the room, he kept the door ajar just enough for her to be heard if she needed him. He went to the changeroom, pulled on Barry’s beanie, and stepped out of the Light.


	22. Rebirth

“With all your absences, I thought it might be good for us to chat before you make up your mind,” Ms Reynolds closed the door and leaned against it as if to block Casey from leaving. “This is your final year of high school and you’re halfway through. Homeschooling can be good, but if there are distractions in the home then—”

     “I understand,” Casey interrupted. She adjusted the small bag on her shoulder—one of Polly’s—and tried to control her breathing. It had scarcely been a day since her rescue, yet she had insisted on dropping out as soon as possible. John wouldn’t expect it yet, would have no plan while he licked his wounds ( _not hers, his, not her, himself—a phrase is all it was, nothing more, nothing to panic over_ ), so it was safer to get things moving early.

     That, and the anxiety of being expected, unaccounted for, but not reported missing by the school was nearly too much to bear. Had they really given up on her so completely that they deemed her absences unworthy of a response?

     She gripped the strap of her bag and willed her knees to stay strong. Orwell was in the car outside; she wouldn’t be alone for much longer.

     “Casey…” Ms Reynolds pushed away from the door and made to reach for her, but thought better of it once she heard the stifled choke of panic. “Casey, I know we’ve talked before, but if there’s _anything_ wrong, please, please tell me.”

     The tang of laughter stung Casey’s tongue, bitter enough for her to scrunch her nose. If it were so very obvious something wasn’t right, wouldn’t it have been just as obvious a year earlier? Two years? Five? Ten?

     Where had that misplaced, naive concern been then?

     Why was it Casey needed to be asked before she was saved?

     Dennis hadn’t asked, he had simply saved her.

     Patricia hadn’t asked either.

     The Beast, whoever he was, wouldn’t have considered asking. By all of Hedwig’s accounts, he had wanted to take over earlier and it was only her personal safety that prevented them from allowing it.

     (Barry said otherwise. Casey preferred Hedwig’s version.)

     “There’s nothing wrong,” she lied, “and I have tutors lined up. One is a professor, the other an expert.”

     “An expert in what?”

     “History.”

     “And the professor?”

     “Cinema,” Casey repeated, just as she’d been instructed. “Specifically Japanese cinema. There’s also a woman who will sit with me during the day and teach me Home Ec, and I have an art tutor as well. He specialises in fashion but he’s good with anatomy.”

     Ms Reynolds looked unconvinced and Casey fought the urge to yell, to drag her to the parking lot and introduce her to the people who _saw_ her.

     “It sounds like you’ve got everything sorted,” Ms Reynolds said.

     Casey nodded. Disbelief or not, Ms Reynolds had stated the obvious.

     “You still have my number,” she continued, “so if you need anything, you can still call. It doesn’t matter if you’re a student here or not, okay?”

     “Thanks,” Casey said, but she knew she wouldn’t call. “Is there anything else you need?”

     “If all the paperwork has been filled out, no,” Ms Reynolds moved away from the door but kept her eyes on Casey. “Look after yourself, please.”

     “Thank you,” Casey replied.

     As she walked from the room, from the building, from the premises, Casey felt those concerned green eyes on her. She did not limp, though she was still in incredible pain, and did not cry out. She left with her head held high, her shoulders back, and a death grip on the strap of Polly’s bag.

     It wasn’t until she reached the car and collapsed through the door Mr Pritchard opened for her that she let out a hiss of pain. Even then, she made sure to only let it out when he jogged to the driver’s seat and couldn’t hear her.

     “Orwell sends his regards,” Mr Pritchard said as he fastened his seatbelt. “He was regretful of his inability to stay in the Light. Fortunately for you and I both, we no longer need to listen to his inane ramblings on the differences between King Leonidas in history and media.”

     “Thank God,” Casey replied. “The horror of it.”

     Mr Pritchard smiled, knew full well Casey was only placating him, and gripped her hand.

     “We’re proud of you, Casey.”

     She couldn’t respond in words, so she let the squeeze she gave his hand speak for her. When he started the car, she looked out the window and imagined tigers running along the street beside them.

* * *

 

Casey spent most of her time alone for the rest of the day. It was nicer than she thought, not at all lonely in the least as long as she could hear the others puttering about the house. It didn’t feel as though she were being avoided, but there was a wariness they each held around her.

     None had spoken of her uncle or of the Beast. She hadn’t asked, hadn’t felt she had the mental space needed to cope with any answer she received but wondered how they knew that. There hadn’t been any prying questions or clumsy attempts to comfort her, nor had there been any change in routine. It didn’t feel as though they were ignoring it—far from it—but… as though they knew, firsthand, how dirty and tainted she felt. Like they knew she needed more room to breathe and forget.

     There had been hints over the years—some more heavy-handed than others—that they had suffered as well. Hedwig rarely talked about Kevin’s mother but when he did, there was fear behind his brave face and tough words. Patricia had actually shushed her once when she’d asked, and Luke had changed the topic completely.

     Only Dennis had said much, and even then it wasn’t much at all. When she had visited the graveyard with him all those years ago, she hadn’t known about his compulsive need to clean. It hadn’t seemed strange for him to not mind the dirt and grass covering the headstone at the time, but now she knew him better, she wondered what the woman had done to earn what Dennis could consider such a terrible punishment.

     And then, there was Kevin himself.

     Finally, after all the years that had passed, Casey had met him.

     She wished it hadn’t been when she was half-naked and bloodied, or when the Beast had been seconds from murdering her uncle. Would Kevin hate her for it? Did he believe he hadn’t hurt her?

     Did he know anything about her?

     Had she hurt him when he’d seen her?

     She let her arm drop from the bed so her fingers brushed along the small rug covering her makeshift floorboards. Funny, she thought, she couldn’t remember thinking about the real ones when she’d been at John’s. The only ones she saw when she closed her eyes were drawn in chalk on the cement of her real bedroom. They had stayed there despite the rigorous cleaning around them, some kind of sacred trophy whoever tidied her room knew to keep.

     The floorboards would hold her feelings for her. All the memories, both old and new, would drip down her fingers and through the make-believe cracks. She would forget, force herself to if need be, and live in blissful ignorance for as long as she could. Nothing could harm her if nothing existed and nothing could exist if it were sealed away.

     They would just be another monster under her bed, but this one wouldn’t crawl into it with her after a beer.

     When she fell asleep later, she dreamed they were real and warm. That they opened themselves off the floor and stretched around her, holding her in the tightest embrace and whispering that they’d keep her safe with a voice she couldn’t place. For the first time in a long time, Casey believed them.

* * *

 

“Casey, it’s late. You need to wake up.”

     She stirred in her bed, awake but not yet lucid, and pretended to sleep. Whatever happened in the world outside her bed didn’t matter, not when she’d dreamt of love and safety.

     “Please.”

     If she stayed silent, whoever it was would go away. She could return to her dreams of freedom and warm summer skies; of lingering embraces and kind smiles.

     “ _Please._ ”

     She exhaled as she moved. Her muscles ached despite her nap and the wounds on her back felt as though they were ready to burst open at any moment. She must have made a face because there were three quick footsteps towards her then two hands holding her biceps to help her sit up. Blearily, she looked at her newfound assistant and felt confusion once she recognised them.

     “Dennis?”

     He released her quickly but didn’t step away. Still close, his eyes searched her expression for something she wasn’t sure existed. Her skin burned where he’d touched her, just as it had when the sun in her dreams had caressed her with its rays.

     “What time is it?”

     Dennis’ shoulders relaxed slightly, “Two.”

     “A.M or P.M?” Casey joked.

     “We have an appointment,” Dennis said, ignoring her question. “You need to get ready.”

     “Me? What for?”

     “We’ve… discussed it, and we think it’s best if you see someone,” Dennis said. “To talk.”

     Casey frowned, “I haven’t talked about it.”

     “I’m sorry. I should have said Barry and I have talked about it,” Dennis mumbled, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s important if you’re going to stay here. To have someone on the outside to talk to. About us.”

     “Why would I need to talk about you?”

     A memory glistened behind her eyes of the Beast climbing the walls. She shook it from her mind, more than aware it was only her mind playing tricks on her. It had been the shock of seeing them, that’s all. The sheer relief at having been rescued turning her friends into the superhero she saw them as.

     Dennis ran a hand over his scalp and stepped back as though he were pacing, “It’s important, to keep you safe. So you don’t get… so you know you’ve got an out. Not isolated.”

     “And if I don’t want to?”

     There was nothing to talk about. Hadn’t they known that? Wasn’t that why they’d given her space and silence? Some things _couldn’t_ be talked about. Memories were acid she washed off with hot showers and a scrubbing brush. Just because something happened didn’t mean it had _happened._ And, if they had, thinking about them only hurt her again.

     How many times would she need to be raped before were allowed to _live?_

     “Casey, please, I need to know that—” Dennis cut himself off and tried again, “I need to know you’re gonna heal. Maybe if we’d seen someone before, for longer, we wouldn’t have… We’re going to take you to see Dr Fletcher with us. She… doesn’t know you live here, probably wouldn’t like it much if she did, but she’s been real good with the others. She thinks we’re extraordinary and believes in us. Just like you do. Barry told her we know a girl who could use someone to talk to and she wants to see you herself before she refers you to someone else.”

     With each word Dennis spoke, Casey found herself curling further in on herself. By the time he’d finished, she felt like a salt-addled slug who had been left in the sun of her dreams for too long.

     “Do you talk to her?” she asked his shoes, which had become the only part of him she could face.

     Dennis froze, conflicted, “Only once. I listen to Barry talk.”

     “But you want me to do it even though you won’t?”

     A near hysterical clap of laughter rose in her throat. She swallowed it, hurt her throat in doing so, and focused on the pinch of her nails against her arms.

     He sighed, “Casey—”

     “Will you come with me? To see her?” It was the least he could do, wasn’t it? If Casey needed to peel back her scabs to show a stranger the rotted holes, it was only fair Dennis be forced to witness it as well.

     That’s what she told herself, anyway. She thought she could pretend it was spite and anger, but truthfully, she was terrified.

     She needed him. He promised to look after her, to protect her. It was one of the few coherent memories she had of her rescue, and Casey had believed him.

     “And the other one?” she added. “I don’t want to go alone. I don’t like talking.”

     “Neither do I.”

     “I don’t… know if I’ll know,” she continued, unsure of why she felt the need to explain herself, “if they’re good or not. You know, don’t you? You can tell if a person is…”

     She let the sentence run and hoped Dennis knew what she meant. It seemed he did as he nodded once in recognition.

     “I’ll go with you,” he said. “This time, with Dr Fletcher, and the first time with whoever you see after. To make sure.”

     “Do you promise?” Casey asked. She felt stupid and juvenile, like a little girl who pestered the older kids to play with her.

     Dennis nodded again, the right of his lip twitching a fraction higher, “I already promised. You’re safe, Casey.”

* * *

 

“Dr Fletcher, this is Casey. Casey, this is the doc.”

     Dennis had waited until they were inside the apartment before introducing his therapist to her. He stood, unyielding, with both arms crossed tight over his chest as he imposed himself on the room. Casey stood behind him, so close she was nearly pressed against him. The doctor smiled at both of them in turn as she gestured to another room and made pleasant conversation. She sat in a chair and offered them both another—two separate ones and not the small sofa.

     Casey did not want to sit but knew it would be impolite to stand. She had agreed to the session, knew how highly Barry, Jade, and the others thought of the doctor, but there was something so uncomfortable about it, like there’d be glue on the seats and she would be forced to stay until she’d released each part of herself.

     She looked to Dennis who was already watching her. He didn’t like talking either, she thought. He looked just as uncomfortable and reluctant; he didn’t want to be there either.

     “I promise there’s nothing contagious on the chairs,” Dr Fletcher said.

     “Sorry,” Casey mumbled, then deliberately sat on the sofa.

     Dennis looked at the chairs, then to Dr Fletcher, and finally to Casey. She could see the words on his lips— _I can stand_ —and frowned. He rubbed his eye with a thumb, dusted the sofa with his cloth, and sat next to her.

     She would thank him later.

     “Can I get either of you something to drink? Tea, coffee, or water?” Dr Fletcher asked, then: “There are chocolates beside you. Barry tells me they’re quite delicious.”

     “No, thank you,” Casey replied.

     “So, Casey,” Dr Fletcher crossed her legs and rest her chin on one hand, “the others have told me so much about you, but I’m not sure if you know anything about me.”

     “Um… you’re a therapist,” Casey tried. “I don’t … ask. It’s private.”

     Dr Fletcher smiled, “I’ve received permission from Barry, Jade, Ian, Luke, Orwell, and Mr Pritchard to discuss things with you, should you have any questions. That goes for you as well, Dennis—” Dennis straightened, his body tense beside Casey, “—however I’m sure you understand there are some things the others would prefer to keep to themselves. Given the situation, I’m sure you understand that.”

     “I do,” Dennis replied. “Privacy is important.”

     Casey shifted and breathed slowly. There was a pain in her chest, like a pocket of air had become caught under her ribs and pressed against her heart.

     “Yes, it is,” Dr Fletcher continued. “Speaking of, I would like both of you to know whatever happens in this room will stay between the three of us. I will not be discussing anything with the others—without your express permission—and assume neither of you will either.”

     “No,” Casey said. Dennis simply nodded.

     “Good, now, Casey: I specialise in dissociative disorders and have a bond with Kevin and his alters, so I will not be able to add you to my client list. However, I have many wonderful colleagues who will be able to help you, if that’s what you want.”

     Casey picked at her nails. She didn’t want to be there. It wasn’t right for her to be there. She was intruding on sacred ground, dirtying it with her mess.

     “I believe the best way to conduct this session would be to split it into three sessions. I would like to speak with you first, alone, then with Dennis, then both of you. Is that all right?”

     Beside her, Dennis moved to his feet. Casey reached for him without thinking, hooked her fingers in his pocket and tugged. He looked at her, confusion painted clear over his face but stayed where he was.

     “He won’t be far away,” Dr Fletcher said. “You can call for him whenever you like.”

     “No, I… I, uh…”

     It hurt to breathe. The air was both too thick and too thin, a razor in her nostrils that bled down her throat. Her temples stung, ached as though someone had shaken her. Spots danced in front of her when she closed her eyes to clear them.

     She was going to die.

     She was going to die and there was nothing anyone could do.

      _Thump, thump, thump, thumpthumpthumpthump—_

     She didn’t want to cry but she couldn’t _stop_ crying and it _hurt_ and she was going to _die_ and _everything hurt—_

     “Casey, can you hear me? Listen to my voice. I need you to breathe.”

     Oh, she was dying in front of Dr Fletcher. The person who helped Barry, the one who could help Kevin. Casey was ruining everything. She was an embarrassment. She destroyed everything she touched. She had made it all about her when no one was meant to even think of her. She was ruining everything. Disgusting. _Disgusting._

      _—thumpthumpthumpthumpthu_ **_mpthumpthumpthump_ ** _—_

     The world was spinning and nothing made sense. Someone was touching her, rubbing her back and arm and _had he found her? Was he here?_

     “No,” she whispered, “ _NO!_ ”

     “Casey, it’s okay Casey,” Dr Fletcher said. “You are safe. Just breathe—”

     Casey scrambled back, her legs and arms uncoordinated in the darkness. She couldn’t see—what happened to the light? to her eyes? why did they sting?—and fell backward. She hit the floor and curled, pressing herself against the wooden floors.

     Floorboards. She could escape through the floorboards.

     She scratched at them, the wood pulling at her nails but they wouldn’t come loose. John was there and he was going to hurt her. He was going to _hurt_ her and she would never get free. She would be trapped inside her broken body and held captive by his perversions.

     “ _Casey._ ”

     Something hot touched her face, then her shoulder, and she was lifted into the air.

     “Casey, you’re safe.”

     She wanted to kick so she kicked. She wanted to scratch so she scratched.

     Whatever had her held strong, their grip never wavering. Whatever—whoever—

     “Casey, you need to breathe. Listen to the doc. Can you breathe for us?”

     The voice of the sun, of the floorboards, of Hedwig’s excitement and Patricia’s faith, of Barry’s love and Jade’s loyalty, of Mr Pritchard’s hand and Orwell’s smile.

     Casey breathed.

     Casey pushed her face into Dennis’ chest and sobbed.

     Casey clung to the man she knew couldn’t be broken and let herself fall apart.


	23. Scrambled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big sexual assault context warning

“Casey, you are safe. No one will hurt you here.”

     Her delicate fingers scratched at Dennis’ shirt, tightening their grip and ensuring he wouldn’t listen to what Dr Fletcher was saying. In response, he flexed the muscles in his arms—not to frighten Casey but to reassure her of his strength. Kevin always sighed whenever Dennis held him back when they were younger. He had even mentioned how strong Dennis was, how _much_ stronger Dennis was, how safe he felt…

     Casey relaxed against him, just a fraction. He wondered if she thought he was strong too.

     Dr Fletcher hadn’t made a sound when Casey kicked her in the chest. It had been an accident, something Casey likely hadn’t realised she’d even done, but it had been something of a solid kick nonetheless. Dr Fletcher’s inability to let surprise get the better of her had impressed Dennis, made him pause for fraction of a second when he’d tumbled over the couch after Casey.

     He hadn’t noticed he was standing between them as a shield until Dr Fletcher had touched his arm. It was then he’d turned his back and stooped to touch Casey’s face. Her face wasn’t one made for tears and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from wiping them away as he whispered her name. Casey shouldn’t cry. It was something wrong, horribly wrong, that anything could make her cry.

     “Dennis,” Dr Fletcher’s voice was soft and even, “Casey is safe here. She isn’t in trouble.”

     He should have placed her on the couch and walked away or murmured something reassuring in her ear. Later, when Dennis had the Light to himself and couldn’t sleep, he would chastise himself for not doing just that.

     But in that moment, with Casey clinging to him with her thin, shaking arms and her wet face pressed into his chest, he knew he wasn’t strong enough to trust the doctor completely. Casey needed to talk to someone, to do what Barry had said, but it wasn’t the right time.

      _‘I can protect her.’_

     The frown lines on Dennis’ face deepened with his concentration. It had only been a breeze of thought, a voice without a body. There was no need to panic—Dennis still had control.

     “I apologise,” Dennis started, “we have to go.”

     “Dennis—”

     “We’ll come back next week, or whenever you’re free. Barry will contact you.”

     Casey didn’t want to be there. It was still too soon. She needed to be home, safe. She needed Dennis to protect her, Patricia to soothe her, Barry to love her, Jade to make her laugh—

     “Casey, is that what you want?” Dr Fletcher asked. “If you would like to stay a while longer—”

     “I want to go home.”

     It was the barest whisper, the tiniest sound, but it pushed Dennis out the door and down the stairs. There would be consequences, that he knew, but he would accept them all.

     Kevin—and Casey—needed his protection. He wouldn’t let them down.

* * *

 

‘ _Dennis—_ ’

     ‘ _I don’t wanna hear it,’_

      _‘Please—’_

      _‘Later, Barry.’_

     ‘ _I’m worried about you._ ’

      _‘...Don’t be.’_

* * *

 

Dennis did not take Casey home. He bundled her in the car—in the backseat, where she could hide and lay down—before entering the driver’s seat. He sat there for a long while, both hands in a death grip on the steering wheel as he fell into deep thought.

     The car was spotless as it always was. Despite its age, Kevin’s mother had kept it in pristine condition. Ansel had always been the most mechanically minded and tinkered with the engine whenever he was able, often putting them all in debt with (what Dennis considered to be) outrageously unnecessary purchases. Still, it ran as well as it had twenty years earlier and never failed to start.

     ‘ _Dennis,_ ’ Patricia cooed, ‘ _let him finish this. Put your faith in Him, and He will deliver Casey from her pain. That man deserves to die._ ’

     Dennis shook his head; it wouldn’t help.

     ‘ _Don’t you remember?_ ’ he asked.

     Patricia didn’t respond. She stepped away from the Light, hurried off to check on Kevin. Dennis breathed through his nose and closed his eyes, fought the urge to do the same thing.

     He and Patricia had let him down that day. Kevin had been getting better, had talked to Barry and Mr Pritchard for months about everything. They’d cried together while Dennis worked. They’d talked about everything—Kevin’s fears, his hopes, the strength he didn’t know he had—and almost every alter had agreed to let him have the Light.

     Even Hedwig, who had promised to be on his best behaviour as long as Kevin still let him play sometimes.

     Dennis should have known it wouldn’t work. He should have known Kevin needed them to stay closer, to hover by the Light even if he wanted privacy. He should have known that Kevin—their wonderful, beautiful, kind Kevin—would try to see the best in his mother.

     That bitch.

     She had played Kevin, had played on his desire to be loved. She destroyed him, over and over, then pissed all over the ashes before he could rebuild himself.

     Kevin had never liked blood and there had been too much of it that day. He had blamed himself for the mess even before he read her note. Had screamed for Dennis in a way no one should ever scream.

     “ _I don’t like it, I don’t like it, Dennis—_ ”

     Notes. Why do they always leave notes?

     “— _I’m not, I’m not, I’m not—I don’t want to, I didn’t mean—_ ”

     The others didn’t know the full extent. Patricia didn’t know all the details.

     They needed to be protected as well. They only saw the fallout.

     Dennis knew what Kevin saw, what that bitch had written in impeccable script on that horrible piece of paper, but no one else had. His only regret was that he hadn’t killed her himself.

     Kevin hadn’t been aroused by the nakedness he found her in that day. Dennis wasn’t either. The note said otherwise, launched accusations and barbs that still clung to both of their souls. Dennis had told Kevin that any feeling he had wasn’t his own, that it had come from Dennis and only Dennis. Kevin didn’t have anything to worry about, the note was wrong. He wasn’t dirty. He wasn’t disgusting. Kevin was pure.

     Kevin had gone to sleep after that. When Dennis had finished with the police, with the arrangements, with the cleaning, he came back to the room and found his chair had been moved. Down the back and near the dark.

     None of them knew.

     They only assumed.

     It was still too early for the Zoo to be closed. If Dennis were to carry Casey home, there would be questions. People would talk, would worry, and the police would be called. It wouldn’t help Casey and would put both her and Kevin in a dangerous position.

     There was only one place Dennis could think to take her, one place a crying girl wouldn’t be out of place.

     With that in mind, he started the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

* * *

 

“Where are we?”

     “The cemetery,” Dennis replied. He had barely heard Casey’s question but had rehearsed what he wanted to say as he’d driven. “We couldn’t go home yet.”

     Shallow breathing filled the car. Dennis’, Casey’s—there was no way for him to know whose exactly. His eyes stayed fixed on the scenery out the windshield as she moved, though he was sure he could see her in his mind’s eye.

     “It’s not the right day,” she said.

     “I didn’t know where else to go.”

     “Oh.”

     Rain peppered the windshield in sporadic dots. The sky overhead, as grey and foreboding as it had been all day, hadn’t looked set to ease its load just yet. It was a surprise, always a surprise. Absently, Dennis wondered if the clouds knew what he couldn’t get out of his head.

     “Can we see her?”

     Dennis breathed sharply through his nose and flexed his fingers.

     “I don’t, I mean, uh…” Casey’s voice was still too raw, too quiet, “I just, I want to see. What happens to them.”

     “When it’s over,” Dennis said.

     Casey’s silence spoke to him. He unbuckled his seatbelt.

     “There’s an umbrella—”

     “No, I… I… is it okay if we don’t take one?”

     His hand hovered near the glovebox.

     “I want to… feel something,” she continued. “Anything.”

     Dennis pulled his hand back and ran it over his scalp. How many times had he felt that same way?

     “Let’s go.”

     The walk through the maze of headstones felt shorter and longer than it ever had before. There was a familiarity in each one, a camaraderie Dennis couldn’t hope to understand. In death, all men were equal—so long as their name was on the birth certificate.

     In his death, there would be nothing but silence. Nothing he ever accomplished would be remembered. He would be an illness, a blight on Kevin’s soul.

     As long as Kevin felt safe, as long as he continued to live in the afterlife, Dennis knew he wouldn’t hate it so much.

     Small, cold fingers gripped his wrist and pulled him to a stop. He looked at the ground, at the ugly and filthy marker, and wondered how he hadn’t noticed it. It called to him, even when he was far away, always reminding him of how disgusting he was. How dirty. How much of a waste he was. It was his fault Kevin got in trouble. It was his fault Kevin was hurt. If it wasn’t for Dennis, that bitch wouldn’t be as bad.

     It’s why she wanted him to debase himself for her. To prove how weak he was. To touch her, even when he didn’t want to touch her. To accept the switch across his naked thighs when he couldn’t find a way to grow erect for her.

     It was all he was good for: cleaning and pleasing her.

     It was his fault if she crept into Kevin’s room. His, if he wasn’t there in time. His fault she even had those—

     “I hate her.”

     Casey’s voice, so small and sweet, had tinged with a savagery Dennis couldn’t understand. How could she hate someone she didn’t know? How could she hate at all?

     “Why?”

     The grip on his wrist tightened. His fingers relaxed, arm nearly falling loose.

     She held him to the ground, stopped him floating away.

     Dennis wanted it. More of it. Hoped she wouldn’t let go.

     “She hurt you,” she glanced at him, then back to the marker. “I can see it.”

     Dennis shivered.

     “It’s how I look sometimes,” she continued. “When he’s done. When I think about it.”

     To speak then would break the moment. Casey didn’t like talking, just as Dennis didn’t like talking. If he spoke, moved—she would stop.

     “He raped me.”

     The air grew thin, too scarce to breathe. He put his hand on hers as it gripped his wrist, light and hesitant. She didn’t pull away.

     “I didn’t…” she breathed, closed her eyes, tilt her head to the sky and let the rain kiss her face. “I don’t want to go back. Please, don’t make me. I’ll… I’ll be better, I’ll—”

     “You can’t go back. You’re not going back,” Dennis interrupted. “You’re staying, you’re—you can’t. I won’t let you.”

     It was wrong. He was wrong.

     He wasn’t meant to control her.

     She was better than that, she deserved her freedom.

     But she couldn’t, she couldn’t—

     “Don’t go, I’ll… I’ll be good. Better,” he licked his lips—when had he turned to face her? “We don’t want you to go back.”

     “But—today, I—”

     “I don’t care.”

     “What if I hurt you?” she continued. “What if I—I do something, or—”

     “It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out.”

     She looked to the ground then. Rain stained her skin, running in calm rivers over her ruby cheeks.

     “Kevin,” she breathed. “He saw me. I—he thought he’d… I told him he hadn’t hurt me, but…”

     “You spoke to Kevin?”

     He’d known he’d had the Light, but not for how long.

     Casey nodded.

     “That night?”

     She nodded again.

     Kevin had seen her. Covered in blood. Defenseless.

     Had she been clothed?

     Had he remembered his mother?

     “I’m sorry.”

     Dennis looked at her, so small and fragile. So hurt.

     Pure, like Kevin.

     “I know.”

     It wasn’t the right thing to say. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He needed to tell her that, to let her know, but he couldn’t. Not then.

     Maybe she didn’t need to hear it.

     Maybe there was something else hidden behind each letter.

     “Kevin is asleep. He likes to sleep, ever since…” Dennis needed to stop, to keep their secrets, but he couldn’t. “His mother, she was… she hurt him. Bad. His father, he was… good. He left to get us help.”

      **‘** **_I need to get help for Kevin. I’ll be back soon,_ ** **’** **_he pried Dennis’ hands off his._ **

      **_‘Please don’t go,’ Dennis begged, ‘I’ll--I’ll be good! I will!’_ **

      **_‘I need you to be brave now, Ke—Dennis, to be strong,’ he replied, ‘Look after Kevin. I’ll be back before you know it.’_ **

     “He didn’t come back.”

     Maybe if Barry had been the last one to speak to him, he wouldn’t have left forever.

     “She, Kevin’s mother, she didn’t handle it very well. She needed things. She was… compulsive.”

      **_‘My big, strong man. You want to make me happy, don’t you?’_ **

     “Kevin, he couldn’t get out. So we did what we could. To help him. To… protect him.”

      **_‘Filthy, disgusting pig! You made a mess! Look at these sheets! Lick it off!’_ **

     “I don’t like talkin’ about it.”

     The rain picked up but Dennis couldn’t feel it. He hadn’t told anyone about it, not really, and it always felt odd to even try. But he had seen Casey, had seen the evidence of her pain written over her body. Had been shielded from it by the Beast.

     He knew how hurt she was. It was only fair she knew something about him, too.

     “If I see someone, a doctor… will… you see Dr Fletcher?”

     Her nails pinched his skin. Dennis squeezed her hand.

     “I don’t know what good it’ll do. I don’t like talking about it,” he said, then: “I’m not real to them, to doctors.”

     “I think you’re real.”

     The frown pulled at his lips and sagged into his chest. There were few things Dennis wanted to hear, had even admitted he wanted, but that was the biggest.

     He wanted to be seen.

     “Let’s get home,” he said, but when Casey didn’t move, he sighed with his whole body. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

     The walk back to the car was shorter than it usually was, but by the time they reached the parking lot, Dennis knew he’d do exactly what Casey had suggested. He would see the doctor himself, even if it was just so she would do the same thing.


End file.
